


your heart is a weapon the size of your fist

by blackkat



Category: Naruto
Genre: ANBU!Naruto, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Families of Choice, Humor, M/M, Unconventional Families, smart!Naruto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4240416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a love story, more or less. </p><p>(Or, Naruto was seven when his world ended. Twelve years as a faceless tool and he’s finally reaching the end of his tether when he meets a man who understands what it is to be a weapon. Sinister shadows are gathering, but there may still be a chance for Naruto and Zabuza to save themselves—and each other.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. death, exalted

**Author's Note:**

> Ages and ages ago, Alec McDowell left me a very interesting prompt for a fic featuring Naruto born 7 years before canon. I managed a few thousand words, then got frustrated with my shitty writing and sulked off to work on Stormborn. Recently I came across the prompt again and decided to try my hand at it. 
> 
> So! This features smart!Naruto (because I feel most of his denseness in canon comes from having to learn everything on his own, and not knowing things other kids’ parents taught them/people take for granted; there's an interesting rant on Tumblr that echoes my thoughts—the link is on my ffnet profile under Story Stuff), powerful!Naruto with his parents’ techniques, and various other tropes that will become apparent as chapters progress. Don’t expect this to be overly long, though. I'm estimating 20-30k words. (Yes, this is what I said about Stormborn, but _I mean it this time_.)

_[The Death card, upright: Transformation, making way for the new, unexpected change, loss, death, and ill luck.]_

 “This isn't working,” Jiraiya says softly, glancing across the garden to the Sarutobi house, where they can just barely see the little boy sitting in the window.

Hiruzen breathes out a heavy sigh and a cloud of smoke, resisting the urge to rub his eyes. It’s really not, and whatever grand plans or noble intentions he had three weeks ago, they're just about devastated now. Minato's overwhelming and rather naïve belief in humanity’s innate goodness aside, the boy is grieving. He’s hurt and alone and aching from it, shunned by the village that used to love him and saddled with a burden that his own father sealed within him, moments before he followed the boy’s mother and newborn brother into death.

The Namikaze family has seen too many tragedies, these last few weeks.

“If he were younger,” Hiruzen allows wearily, “or if it had been the infant that had survived, the orphanage would have been an easy enough solution.” He ignores the sudden tension in his former student’s shoulders, knowing that Jiraiya wants to loudly reject the idea but won't for fear of disturbing the boy. “However, Naruto already bears the Namikaze name, and the villagers know him by sight. We will not be able to get away with calling him another nameless orphan, and as everyone also knows just who his mother was…” With a faint grimace, he taps his pipe against his lips. “Well, using the name Uzumaki would be pointless. The clan is very near to extinct, and Kushina was…well-known.”

“ _Infamous_ is the word you're looking for,” Jiraiya corrects with a smile. It dies quickly, though. He hesitates, and offers warily, “I could…?”

“No. No, that won't work either. I need you tracking Orochimaru and Akatsuki, not babysitting.” Hiruzen shakes his head and seals his lips on the damnation of one Namikaze Minato that wants to emerge. Jiraiya likely won't take kindly to it, no matter how Hiruzen feels.

Damn Uchiha Obito, regardless. This is his doing, if not entirely, and his death—a true one, this time, as far as Hiruzen can tell—has fixed nothing.

Closing his eyes, he casts around for a solution, willing to attempt just about anything at this point. They’ve already foiled three assassination attempts in the past week, and with Naruto continuing to bear the Namikaze name, such things will only get worse. Minato's enemies, both political and personal, are…legion.

No, the boy can't be left in the open, but to give him to a shinobi family to raise would upset the delicate balance of power within the clans, and there's no way Konoha could survive a civil war right now. A civilian family wouldn’t be able to protect him, and there's no way to give him anonymity. If he were younger, if he hadn’t been raised as the extraordinarily talented son of the Yondaime Hokage and his jinchuuriki wife, if Minato had resealed the Kyuubi into Kushina and let it die with her, rather than making one last, desperate attempt to save her by sealing it into their elder son—

If. Such a little word, with so much empty power.

And the babe is dead as well. Just one more tragedy for the night of October 10th to bear.  

He blows out another cloud of smoke, watches it twist up towards the moon. There's only one answer that he can think of, and it’s…not kind. Not in the least, and especially not for a seven-year-old boy used to two loving parents and a village that adores him. But it’s a solution, and Hiruzen is desperate enough to keep the boy alive that he’ll do very close to anything.

“ANBU,” he says, cracking the stillness of the night. “Naruto-kun is set to pass his Academy graduation test. Administer it early, make certain he passes, and once he does, he will be a shinobi. Rank does not matter when joining ANBU, only the Hokage's recommendation. I will place him there, to train and grow where no one will find him. Hidden in plain sight, as it were. ANBU do not have identities, and we can keep knowledge of his name from everyone, even the team he joins. It’s rare, but not unheard of.” Hearing Jiraiya's sharply indrawn breath, he opens his eyes to regard the Toad Sage levelly. “Do you have a better solution, Jiraiya? Because I do not. At least this way he will be strong.”

“If he doesn’t _break_ first.” Jiraiya's tone is impeccably even. “ANBU takes hardened shinobi, the best in the village, and then it chews them up and spits them out. I'm sure you know the suicide rate better than I do, sensei. You're going to subject a _child_ to that? Not only a child, but the son of the beloved Yondaime, who’s never been through so much as a rough patch in his life yet?”

Hiruzen arches a brow. “If you wish to find a rough patch, Jiraiya,” he counter mildly, “I believe you are overlooking three weeks ago. It would be very hard indeed to find rougher.” He turns to look at the boy again, only to find large blue eyes watching them from where the child sits, tired and sad but also grimly determined. It’s not the sort of look any seven-year-old should bear, and Hiruzen thinks of his own son, thinks of subjecting him to such a thing at that age, and makes his choice. Without giving Jiraiya time to protest, he marches across the moonlit garden and right up to the window.

“You heard us, Naruto-kun?” he asks, faintly wry, because he should have remembered Kushina’s hearing. But he’s been a grandfather to Naruto since the boy’s birth, and it’s all but impossible to look at him and think _jinchuuriki_.

Naruto nods, and here in the moonlight, with his blond hair cut the same way as Minato's, with the pale light sharpening the planes of his face, it could be Minato himself staring back at Hiruzen. “You want to put me in ANBU,” he says, and tries for a smile. It’s a weak, sad echo of his usual brilliant grins, and almost hurts to see. “I always knew I’d make you believe I was awesome, Jiji.”

Hiruzen smiles in return, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Indeed,” he says indulgently. “You’ll be even more awesome if you can survive training. There are several younger members who I think would be a good match for you, Naruto.”

There's a pause as the boy digests that. Minato's influence, Hiruzen knows­—Kushina had a penchant for leaping first, but Minato has already managed to instill at least a bit of caution in their son. He’ll need it, and every bit of the training Minato and Kushina gave him, if he’s going to make it. This isn't any kind of good solution, but it’s the only one available.

“Tou-san was blond,” Naruto says unexpectedly. “Only the Yamanaka are blond now that he’s—” He breaks off and swallows, but the glitter in his eyes isn't tears. It’s determination, resolve, and rarely has Hiruzen see the Will of Fire burn so brightly in one so young. “I'm gonna have to dye my hair, right? And change my name.”

“Yes,” Hiruzen nods. “Dye will work best. Genjutsus or henges are too easily broken, and Minato's coloring was certainly distinctive.” He casts a glance towards the Hokage monument, feeling something clench in his chest. What a reminder, for a small boy still grieving. His father’s face carved in stone, forever watching him. “However, you may keep your name. ANBU operate under codenames regardless, and it would be best not to trust your squad with your true identity, even given that they will be standing between you and death. A certain level of trust is necessary for that sort of thing, but shinobi are only human, in the end.”

Naruto nods like he understands, though Hiruzen knows he can't yet. Soon, likely. All too soon. “I’ll do it,” he says firmly, meeting Hiruzen’s eyes. “I’ll be the best ANBU ever, and I’ll become a captain faster than anyone ever.” He does grin then, and even if it’s more restrained than usual, it’s still a sign that he will recover. Turning away, Naruto looks out into the darkness, at the very mountain Hiruzen was just contemplating, and his face brightens slightly.

“After all,” he adds, “Tou-san is gonna be watching me. I have to make him and Kaa-san proud.”

He will. Of that, Hiruzen has no doubt.


	2. ace of swords, exalted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am hoping to update on Tuesdays, like with Stormborn, but RL is crazy enough that I can't promise that. Fingers crossed, please! And toes, if you're feeling particularly hopeful.
> 
> (Chapter titles are tarot cards; meanings will be below. Exalted is upright, diminished is upside down. Please keep in mind I am not a professional fortuneteller [ha], and am going off internet meanings for the Major and Minor Arcana. It’s very possible most of these are wrong.)

_[The Ace of Swords card, upright: The beginning of a victory, the ability to love and hate with ardor, or the birth of a valiant leader._

_The Suite of Swords usually predicts aggression, force, ambition, courage, strife, or misfortune.]_

 

“The informant will only be in range for a hundred and twenty seconds. After that we lose all hope of seizing him. This is our only opportunity, Fox, remember.”

The voice in his ear is as sharp and precise as always, carefully measured. Naruto hears it, seated on the wide bough of an old oak with one leg swinging idly off the branch, and just laughs.

“Two minutes?” he answers cheekily, though he keeps his voice low, inaudible to anyone more than a foot away. “Minor leagues, Crow. Don’t stress, we’ll have you home in time for dinner.”

“You’d better.” His partner’s tone is desert-dry. “My otouto will kick you in the shins if I miss his graduation because of you.”

That earns him a snort. “Your adorable little brother will take _any_ excuse to kick me. The brat’s just lucky Jiji didn’t want me to be a jounin sensei this time around. I would have made his life _miserable_.”

“I'm sure that if you asked him, he’d say you already do,” Itachi counters dryly. “Impressive, given that he’s never even seen your face.”

Naruto laughs, soft and warm. “Ah, what can I say? I'm skilled like that.” A roiling burst of foreign emotion makes him look up, eyes narrowing behind the orange-streaked white of his mask, and he tenses, drawing his swinging leg up beneath him and shifting into a low crouch. “Heads up. Someone’s coming, and they're pissed off.”

“I cannot say I would be otherwise, either, working for Orochimaru,” Itachi murmurs, but it’s an absent sort of snark, and over the comm Naruto can hear the faint whisper of his movement through the uppermost branches above. “He just crossed the river—you should have him in thirty. Remember, you can't—”

“Let him use his Cursed Seal, yes, Crow, I _know_. I was there for that briefing too.” Even as he retorts, Naruto shifts position, drawing one of his special kunai and tapping it against his thigh as he counts down from thirty. Itachi is never anything less than precise, after all. 

“And here I thought you slept through them all.” Itachi's voice is mild as milk.

“Only most of them,” Naruto says cheerfully, which is a bald-faced lie. He’s a competitive person by nature, and making ANBU at the age he did means he’s been competing at absolutely everything since the first time he set foot in Headquarters. If he didn’t pay attention, he wouldn’t be good at this, and if he wasn’t good, he might as well be dead. For more reasons than just the obvious, too.

A rustle, a faint curse, and then someone bursts through the bushes ten feet below Naruto and several meters to the left. A boy, about fourteen, with wiry dark hair in a ponytail and two extra sets of arms. He’s even wearing Oto’s hitai-ate to make this especially easy.

The boy is fast, clearly practiced in stealth and speed. He’s past Naruto in a heartbeat, headed deeper into the trees towards the hidden laboratory ANBU identified several weeks ago, and if he makes it past the first ring of guards he’ll be practically untouchable.

But no matter how fast he is, Naruto is the son of the Yellow Flash, and always faster.

In a bound he’s gone from his perch, across branches and around trunks in nothing more than a blur of black and grey. It only takes a moment to catch up to the Oto nin, another to pass him, and just as dark eyes snap up to catch him Naruto flings his kunai in a smooth, practiced arc.

Kidomaru, one of Orochimaru’s elite shinobi, whips his head to the side just in time, and the kunai embeds itself into the tree right behind him with a ringing thud. The nin eyes it for a moment, then turns to look back at Naruto with a spreading smirk, already gathering his chakra. “You missed,” he taunts. “What, think you can take all the action when you're just a side character at best, trash? Game over.”

Unseen behind his mask, Naruto smiles. “Missed?” he asks lightly, and the world _folds—_

_shifts—_

With a flash of yellow light, Naruto reappears next to his kunai, the blade of his tantō already pressed against Kidomaru’s throat.

“I don’t miss,” he tells the younger boy with wicked cheer. “I just don’t hit what people _think_ I'm aiming at.”

Kidomaru bristles, the mark on his neck darkening, but before he can activate his Cursed Seal Naruto slaps a hand over it, his mother’s favorite lessons foremost in his mind as he hammers chakra into the appropriate shape, like a blacksmith with a piece of hot steel. It gives way before him, folds and molds and settles against Kidomaru’s skin in thick black lines that shimmer with power. Kidomaru screams, jerking away with every muscle gone taut, and before he can even make it a step his eyes roll back in his head and his knees buckle under him. Naruto only just manages to catch the unconscious shinobi before he hits the dirt.

Okay. The six arms are freaky.

With a faint grimace, Naruto shifts his hold on Kidomaru and reaches up to make sure his earpiece is still in place. “Package retrieved and neatly boxed, Crow,” he offers, taking a breath. “A little help? He’s heavy.”

Branches rustle, and Itachi drops down through the canopy to land in a crouch next to him. “No problems, Fox?”

“Not a one,” Naruto confirms cheerily. “Bastard thought I _missed_ , can you believe that?”

“I know several dozen of our own shinobi who would think the same thing at first glance,” Itachi counters dryly, sheathing his sword and helping Naruto pull Kidomaru upright. “You certainly play the fool well.” The sprawling black mark on the Oto nin’s neck makes him pause, and even though Naruto can't see it behind the bone-white mask, he’s known his partner long enough to recognize the raised eyebrow aimed his way from body language alone. “This is—?”

“It’ll break down the Cursed Seal.” With a grimace, Naruto gets Kidomaru over his shoulder, then nods to Itachi, who steps back. “I've been talking to Jiji about it, and we’re pretty sure the Seals are like containers. They’ve got that twisted form of sage chakra in them, and then a piece of Orochimaru’s soul.”

Itachi doesn’t quite flinch back, but the faint twitch he gives is his equivalent, and Naruto grins at him.

“Yeah, I know. But this’ll start breaking through the—the box part of the seal. It’ll dump the chakra and kick out the soul, and then all we’ll have to deal with is a cranky Oto shinobi with _way_ too many arms.”

“T & I can have that dubious pleasure,” Itachi murmurs, Sharingan eyes sweeping over their surroundings. “We should return. I have no doubt we have overstayed our welcome in this place.”

Despite whatever front of bravado and fearlessness he might put up, Naruto doesn’t have any desire to meet more of Orochimaru’s twisted experiments. He nods, retrieves his kunai, and leaps up into the branches with Kidomaru carefully balanced over his shoulder. As soon as there are enough branches between them and the floor to hide a wayward flash of light, he pauses, and a moment later Itachi lands beside him, grabbing his free shoulder.

“You have enough chakra to take all three of us?” the Uchiha asks warily. “I can—”

“And ruin our clean getaway?” Naruto snorts and reaches out, tugging Itachi closer until their sides are pressed together. “I don’t think so. Haven’t I told you to stop being such a martyr, Crow?”

“A time or two, perhaps.” There's a smile in Itachi's voice. “Quickly, then, if you would. I only have three hours before I'm expected to present myself at the Academy.”

Naruto laughs. “It would do the little brat good to learn some patience,” he points out, even as he reaches with that strange awareness that isn’t quite chakra sensing, but…close. Every mark burns bright in his mind, each string of seals like a doorway waiting to be pushed open, and he sorts through them in an instant, well-practiced as he picks the path he’ll need to end up in Konoha. The one on the floor of the Hokage's office is tempting, as a final destination, but last time he showed up unannounced Jiji threw an inkpot at his head, and that stuff _stains._ His ANBU quarters are another possibility, but he’s been on back-to-back missions for the last month and a half, and his room looks like a disaster area. Itachi will _not_ appreciate landing in a pile of bloodstained uniforms, as previous experience proves. So that leaves—

Choose _—_

_grab—_

pull—

_step—_

and land, perfectly balanced, as the flash of light fades. There's a curse, a few hurried lunges out of the line of fire, but Naruto is already leaping up and away from Konoha's gates, touching down on the rooftops with Itachi in his shadow.

“You marked the gates?” The younger teenager sounds thoughtful. “Either you were being lazy or you had a moment of particular cleverness. I'm impressed.”

Naruto shrugs as best he can, picking out T & I and heading for it with relief. He’s very good with the Hiraishin, almost as good as his father, but to jump across the entirety of Fire Country in a chain of at least twenty marks, twenty small steps in quick succession, is enough to leave him winded. If he didn’t have his mother’s reserves, and the extra from Kurama, he’d likely be a very attractive corpse right now. “Can't it be both?” he asks, but it’s not quite as cheeky as it would be normally. He still needs a moment to catch his breath, both metaphorical and otherwise.

“With you? Most certainly.” That clear thread of amusement is still present in Itachi's voice, and Naruto has to smile, remembering the stiff, stifled boy he’d first met at the age of ten, distant and forever detached. But if there's one thing Naruto prides himself on, it’s his persistence, and he’d worn Itachi down with astonishing speed. The Uchiha heir had never had a friend before, never connected with anyone besides his little brother, and it still hurts a little, to think of. Naruto isn’t exactly Mr. Sociable himself—being raised in ANBU can do that to a person, and not being able to tell anyone his real name just makes it worse—but he’s got people he’s fond of. Before meeting him, Itachi never allowed himself even that much.

“Fox, Crow.” Ibiki, just emerging from the building, pauses to survey their captive. “Ah. The Hokage said something about expecting a new arrival, but he was under the impression you wouldn’t be back for at least a week.”

Naruto winces, even as Itachi shoots him what is undoubtedly a glare. So maybe he kind of exaggerated when he said he had Jiji’s permission to jump them all the way back. But either way, he pastes on a smile and says cheerfully, “Well, Crow has a date, so we rushed a bit. Wouldn’t want him to miss it! He’s already socially stunted as it is.”

Without hesitation, Itachi slaps him in the back of the head. _Hard_. “Idiot,” he growls.

Ibiki rolls his eyes at the pair of them, then grabs Kidomaru by the back of his tunic and, with insulting ease, tosses him over his own shoulder. “I’ll take things from here,” he says gruffly. “Thanks.”

Even as he inches away from his partner, Naruto tosses off a cheeky salute. “Our pleasure!” he answers cheerfully, then bounces out of the way of Itachi's attempt to step on his foot and hops straight up onto the rooftop of T & I. “Last one to the Hokage gets to do all the paperwork,” he challenges, and then is gone in a flicker of grey and black, the lingering echo of Itachi's curse stinging at his ears.

 

 

When Sasuke emerges into the afternoon sunlight, brand new hitai-ate clutched in one hand, it’s to the entirely unexpected sight of his older brother waiting for him. He runs to him immediately, ignoring the voice in his head that sounds like his father and hisses at him to have more dignity. But it’s Itachi, who he’s always looked up to, who’s an impossibly strong, wise shinobi, and—

And who isn’t alone.

Itachi is leaning against the old tree that stands on the hill overlooking the Academy, smiling faintly, but fondly, as Sasuke slows to a walk several feet away. Next to him, dangling off a branch just above eye level, are a pair of black-clad legs with grey armor, and Sasuke grudgingly lifts his eyes to take in the sight of Itachi's self-proclaimed best friend perched on the bough like a particularly lazy bird of prey, limbs sprawled out as though gravity means nothing to him. As always, there's a blank white mask over his face, covering everything but a pair of sky-blue eyes, and his long black hair is up in a high tail, swaying gently in the breeze.

“Sasuke,” Itachi says warmly. “Congratulations.”

Sasuke halts a few steps away, just slightly too old to throw himself at his brother for a hug, but tempted all the same. “Thank you, aniki,” he answers, not quite able to hide his smile. “I thought—Kaa-san said you’d be gone for the next two weeks.”

At that, Fox laughs. He twists, hooking his legs over the branch even as he lets himself fall backwards, and ends up upside down, on eye-level with Sasuke. “Say thank you, Sasuke-chan,” he informs Sasuke with his usual obnoxious cheer, and Sasuke is absolutely sure that if he could see the man’s face, he’d be grinning. “We were clear over in Rice Paddy Country, but I got us back in time. Couldn’t miss a chance to see you crash and burn.”

Sasuke wonders if it would be childish to grab Fox by his ponytail and yank him out of the tree. Probably, because Sasuke's luck always sucks. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and gives the buffoon a withering glare. “You mean for once you didn’t screw up?” he bites out.

“Sasuke,” Itachi sighs, then crouches down in front of him with a soft smile. He gently pokes Sasuke's forehead with two fingers, and murmurs, “I'm very proud of you, otouto. There is no doubt you will be an amazing shinobi someday.”

Happily, Sasuke ignores the fool to focus on his brother, and smiles. “I will,” he promises. “I’ll make ANBU, too, and then we can be on the same team.”

Itachi chuckles at that, but inclines his head in agreement. “Perhaps you should ask Fox for pointers,” he suggests, giving his friend an arch look. “He holds the record as the youngest recruit ANBU has ever accepted.”

Caught off guard, Sasuke blinks. Itachi is a true genius, and made ANBU at ten; he hadn’t thought it was possible to be better than his brother.

And, astonishingly, Fox doesn’t turn it into a boast or something to brag over. He gives a soft, almost sad sigh, then lets go of the branch with his legs and flips neatly over, landing lightly on the balls of his feet. No matter what else Sasuke can say about him, Fox is definitely graceful, even for an elite jounin.

“I don’t think I count,” he says wryly. “There were extenuating circumstances in my case. But if Sasuke-chan wants a few tips, I’d be more than happy to beat them into his head for you, Itachi.”

Sasuke scowls at him for the nickname, and for the suggestion. He’s trained with Fox twice before, when Itachi was unavailable and he was desperate, and he’s very, very much eager not to do it again. Fox is fast enough to make Shisui of the Shunshin look sluggish, and entirely merciless. He barely pulls his blows, and while Sasuke came out of their bouts with a newly improved instinct for when to duck, he also had enough bruises to make him look like he’d been rolling around in ink. Never again, if he can help it.

But his brother, even knowing Sasuke's strong feelings about those sessions, doesn’t immediately refuse. Rather, he’s watching Fox with thoughtful eyes, and Sasuke can practically see the wheels turning in his head. “I wasn’t aware,” he says slowly. “Extenuating circumstances?”

Fox just looks back at him levelly. “Classified,” he says blandly. “Ask Jiji, if you really want to know. Though he hasn’t let me tell anyone else yet, so you might be out of luck.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes, uncaring of the byplay. Fox is equal parts secretive jerk, happy-go-lucky moron, and ruthless ANBU operative, and all-around a bad fit for Itachi. The bastard should just take a hint and leave already, but it’s been seven years and he’s still hanging around, so Sasuke doesn’t have much hope anymore. “How old were you?” he demands, breaking Fox and Itachi's (somewhat eerie, admittedly) staring contest. “When you joined.”

Fox hums thoughtfully, as though casting his mind back—just another mark of psychosis, if he’s forgotten, Sasuke is sure. He’s already certain the ANBU has split personalities, to be able to slip from joking to killing as smoothly as he does. “About…seven,” he says after a moment. “It was…three weeks after my seventh birthday, actually.”

 _Seven_. That’s…insane.

“You're _insane_ ,” Sasuke informs the man bluntly.

Fox just laughs, even as Itachi sighs and mutters something under his breath. “Not really sure I can argue with that, kid,” the ANBU says brightly, reaching out and ruffling Sasuke's hair almost fondly. Sasuke bares his teeth at him in a silent snarl. He won't hesitate to bite, if the bastard tries that again.

“Aniki is still better than you,” he adds after a second, just in case there was any doubt.

“Sasuke, don’t be rude,” Itachi warns him, then turns and inclines his head to his friend. “Thank you for getting us back in time, Fox. I appreciate it.”

Fox waves that off with a flick of one hand. “No worries,” he says easily. “It would have been a waste of time to come back the long way when I had the chakra to spare. Now don’t go martyring yourself before I get back from my next mission, alright?”

Itachi's expression is exquisitely longsuffering. “You're never going to let me live that down, are you?” he asks wryly. “You're going to hold it over my head for the rest of our lives.”

“Gee, it’s almost like you're a genius or something, to have figured that out.” That obnoxious grin is back in Fox’s voice. “Though to be fair, I'm holding it over Shisui's head, too.”

“At least I won't have to suffer alone.” Itachi raises a hand in a half-wave, then steps back, clearly knowing what comes next. Fox laughs brightly, tosses off a cheerful salute, and then vanishes in a whirlwind of leaves.

“Showoff,” Sasuke mutters derisively.

Itachi chuckles. “If you knew what he was capable of, you wouldn’t say that. For him, that was actually rather subtle.” When Sasuke glances at him curiously, Itachi just shakes his head. “Whatever circumstances there were surrounding Fox’s admittance to ANBU, he has earned his place a hundred times over now. Regardless of his acting the fool, Fox is one of Konoha's strongest.”

Sasuke is willing to take this at face value, if only because he’s certain that Itachi actually _is_ the strongest. He nods, and Itachi smiles at him. “Shall we go?” his brother suggests. “I'm sure Kaa-san and Tou-san are eager to hear of your success.”

Sasuke is rather more doubtful, but allows Itachi to lead the way towards the compound nevertheless. “What did he mean?” he asks. “About not martyring yourself?”

“Also classified, I'm afraid,” Itachi murmurs, wry and a little regretful. “Perhaps when you are older I will be able to tell you.”

“You mean when I'm ANBU?”

“When you know enough about being a shinobi that you will not hate me for what I might have done.”

Sasuke frowns, utterly baffled, because there's not one single thing he can think of in all the world that would make him hate his older brother. But Itachi's eyes are very sad, the way they sometimes get when he talks to their father, or to Shisui. Sasuke doesn’t like to see Itachi sad, so he hurries another step to catch up and asks, “Can we buy some tomatoes on the way home?”

That, at least, brings Itachi's smile back, and he nods. “That sounds like a very good idea, otouto.”

 

 

The only good thing about being on Jiji’s guard detail is that the old man generally posts his other guards outside of the room, and since the Hokage's office is probably the most secure building in Konoha, Naruto can take his mask off without fear. It’s the _only_ place he can do that, and though the white porcelain is light and unconstricting, it sometimes feels as though it might as well be made of stone and iron, it weighs on him so heavily.

“Thank you for agreeing to fill in for Tenzō, Naruto. I know your mission required…rather more chakra than I had intended you to expend.”

That last is accompanied by a stern look from wise brown eyes, sharp and pointed. Naruto just chuckles, turning his mask over in his hands where he sits beneath the window. It is…nice to hear his own name, though, rather than his codename. The Hokage is the only one who uses it—the only one who _knows_ it now, of those in the village. To everyone else, he’s just Fox, the silly, oddly strong jounin. That weighs on him even more than the mask, sometimes, and he can't help but wonder whether he’d forget the name his parents gave him if even Sarutobi were to stop using it.

“Don’t worry, Jiji,” he says easily, setting his mask down in his lap. The blank, empty eyeholes gape up at the ceiling, the streaks of dark orange like a mocking fox-mouth laughing. “Itachi needed to get back, and besides, this way there was no chance of Kidomaru escaping. The week’s travel would have given him plenty of opportunities—and time for Orochimaru to stage a rescue. Too big of a risk, when there was an alternative.”

Sarutobi acknowledges this with a tip of his head, and his eyes are warm and faintly proud when he looks at Naruto. “I suppose it was. Either way, for the good of my nerves, you're on light duties for a week.”

“Jiji!” Naruto complains. “That’s not fair! I'm _fine_.”

“I'm sure you are.” The Hokage picks up his pen and turns back to his paperwork. “However, the only missions we have available at the moment are at least a month long. I want you available to follow up on the Sound issue once Ibiki has retrieved the information we need.”

With a roll of his eyes, Naruto accepts this, settling back against the wall with bad grace. He _hates_ waiting. “Is old Ero-Sennin going to be there?” he asks curiously. “For the Sound mission, I mean. You have him tracking Orochimaru, don’t you?” He hasn’t seen Jiraiya since he first went into ANBU; the handful of times the Toad Sage has been in the village since then, Naruto has always been on a mission. There's definitely a downside to being in high demand.

“I believe he is following a lead regarding Akatsuki at the moment,” Sarutobi says distractedly, frowning down at his work. “However, if you're feeling nostalgic, I could always ask Kakashi to accompany you.”

Naruto grimaces. “Please don’t.” As fond as he is of Kakashi-nii, Hound _hates_ Fox, because Fox uses the Yellow Flash’s technique when no one besides the Yondaime himself should be able to. Naruto understands the reaction, no matter how much it irks him. Several times he’s been tempted to tell Kakashi who he really is, but Sarutobi has forbidden it. For a while Kakashi was involved with Danzo, and though Sarutobi is lenient, he is also wary. Danzo is dead, but Sarutobi isn’t willing to risk some of his ideals having survived, even in Minato's student. Naruto’s identity is Konoha's greatest secret, and not one he will surrender easily.

Besides, Naruto isn’t willing to stop using his father’s technique, which Minato finally told him the secrets of on his seventh birthday. Like his mother’s chakra chains and the seals that both of them loved, it’s a piece of his parents. One of his only remaining pieces, and Naruto is selfish enough that he won't give that up, even for Kakashi's peace of mind.

A soft chuckle draws his eyes back to his surrogate grandfather, who’s watching him with amused eyes. “You are safe for now, Naruto,” the man assures him. “I believe Kakashi is going to be very busy with his new genin team in the near future.”

Oh, that’s amazing. “You gave him a _genin team_?” Naruto says gleefully—he can love Kakashi and still want to pound his head into something hard, after all. “That is _brilliant_. Who did he get? Please tell me it’s painful.”

Sarutobi laughs. “I suppose it is,” he allows. “Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura, and Inuzuka Kiba are his team. It should be quite interesting.”

An Uchiha and an Inuzuka on the same team? Yeah, interesting is one word for it. Naruto grins to himself. This way, Kakashi will probably be pounding his _own_ head into a boulder within a week. Now that’s payback.

With a low, wicked chuckle, Naruto tips his head back against the wall, imagining chaos with Kakashi at the epicenter—and it’s only made better by the fact that Sasuke is going to be part of it. Naruto is _very_ familiar with what a brat the boy can be. He’s unfamiliar with the girl, and doesn’t know Kiba either, but any spawn of Tsume’s is likely to give as good as he gets and come up swinging. Hopefully Haruno will be able to keep up.

“I can hear you snickering, Naruto,” Sarutobi chides, not looking up. “A little discretion, if you would. I like to be able to pretend that my shinobi do not, in fact, have it out for one another.”

“Sorry, Jiji.” Naruto does his best to rearrange his face into contrite lines. It’s difficult. His father had told him what a brat Kakashi used to be, when he was first placed on Minato's team, and Naruto has seen shades of that in the cold shoulder Hound gives Fox. Getting stuck with Sasuke the Walking, Talking Brother-Complex is such perfect, appropriate karma that Naruto could cry actual tears.

Of mirth, obviously.

Sarutobi just shakes his head, clearly resigned. “Focus on what you will need for your next mission,” he reminds Naruto. “Infiltrating Sound will not be easy, if it’s even possible. You have a week to train, and I expect you to use it.”

Naruto doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but it’s tempting. It’s not like he’s never had difficult or dangerous missions before; he’s ANBU, it’s practically in the job description that his life is going to be in peril at least every other day. And as it is, he trains _constantly_. He wouldn’t have survived his first three years if he didn’t, and habits like that are hard to break.

But Sarutobi is like his grandfather, and so the man is allowed to treat him like Naruto is still a seven-year-old with a miniscule attention span and a burning desire to be exactly like his powerful, heroic father and fierce, fearless mother. A part of Naruto is definitely still that boy, as much as he tries to hide it. He wouldn’t have built his entire fighting style around his parents’ techniques if he wasn’t. He wouldn’t have built his entire life around shadowing their footsteps, either.

A glance out the window shows the sun is just sinking below the horizon, meaning his shift is over. Naruto sighs and presses his mask over his face once more, tying it in place with the ease of far too much practice. When he looks up, Sarutobi is watching him, weary and regretful. Naruto tips his head in a silent smile, waves once, and slips out the window as another ANBU ducks through the door to take his place.

With the way his thoughts are whirling, Naruto doesn’t hesitate. His feet find the path he’s run a hundred thousand times, and in a few short minutes he’s up the side of the Hokage Mountain, landing lightly on top of spiky stone hair. From here the village looks small and simple, no hint of inner turmoil to take away from its peacefulness, and Naruto sighs softly, taking a seat on the sun-warmed stone. He loops his arms around his knees and leans forward to rest his chin on them, wishing, just for a moment, that he could take off his mask, wash the dye from his hair, and face even this poor image of his father the way he _should_ look. Wishes that he could go back in time and kill Uchiha Obito before his father could, for tearing the Kyuubi out of his mother and killing his newborn brother. Wishes desperately, impotently, that something on that night had gone right, or at least any other way than it had.

But even Naruto himself doesn’t remember what he should look like, and for all the abilities his parents left him, time travel isn’t one of them. And even with all he lost, Naruto can't fully blame Obito. After all, there were seals on him, dark and insidious, and other marks that his mind wasn’t entirely his own. To blame him is to blame a weapon for cutting, and that’s not right.

But someone was controlling him. Someone _used_ him to cut Naruto's parents down when they were at their most vulnerable, and for that person, Naruto will have no mercy. He’ll find them, and then he’ll use everything his parents left him, everything twelve years in ANBU has taught him, and he’ll bring them down.

Thought of doing so has been keeping him going for the past twelve years.

(Sometimes, it’s been the _only_ thing.)


	3. the sun, diminished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (To head off any complaints about me making too many characters gay/not straight [which somehow _always_ comes up with someone and truly bugs me], please, just don’t. I don’t care that it’s not realistic and annoys you—I find the number of straight couples in the world annoying. Also, you're in a fandom focused on highly visible ninjas where people coming back from the dead as magical zombies is just the tip of the iceberg. I think realism took a hike in chapter one and never looked back.
> 
> /rant over, forgive me, I've just gotten a lot of those comments lately on other fics and wanted to address it.)

_[The Sun card, reversed: Unhappiness, loneliness, an interruption of regular life, and a clouded future._

_The Major Arcana (also called the trump cards) represent major, lasting changes and influences on the subject or the natural world surrounding them.]_

 

The scuff of a sandal over stone brings Naruto from deep sleep to wakefulness in half an instant. Automatically he reaches for a kunai, already calling up his chakra in a rust-red roil around him, but before he can even close his fingers around the handle a familiar voice says wryly, “I'm fairly certain this is not a healthy way of coping, Fox.”

It takes barely the breadth of a heartbeat for Naruto to catalogue the well-known chakra signature, then double-check that it’s calm and at peace. Only then does he release the kunai and open his eyes. Tenzō is still several meters away, masked and dressed in full ANBU gear, and there's an edge of weariness to his steps that makes Naruto think he’s just getting back from a mission.

Wincing a bit at his soreness from sleeping on the bare stone, Naruto sits up and scrubs a hand through his wildly tangled hair. The sensation brings with it an unfairly vivid memory, of walking into the kitchen of his parents’ house to find his mother just starting coffee, bleary-eyed and yawning, with her impossibly long, bright hair snarled and tangled around her body. The sudden surge of grief all but cuts his legs out from under him, and Naruto has to remind himself to breathe as he leans forward, stretching out his spine. He’s never been one to suffer grief easily, or let go of it quickly. Let go of it at all, he sometimes thinks, because even now it’s like a fresh and bleeding wound within him, the loss of his parents. Even the loss of his little brother, who barely had time to draw a breath before it was stolen from him.

But he’s had twelve years learning to operate even when he feels like he’s breaking, so he pastes a smile to his face and counters, “This coming from the guy who tried to make his hair look just like the Shodaime’s for six years? Nice try, sempai.”

Tenzō sighs, sitting down beside him on top of the Yondaime’s carved head, and removes his cat-mask. “You know, calling me that is the reason most people think you're another one of Orochimaru’s creations,” he says, not quite a complaint.

Naruto just shrugs. “I've never said I wasn’t,” he reminds Tenzō cheerfully, because it’s as good a story as any. Namikaze Naruto died in an assassination attempt, leaving behind a mangled corpse and a few fading traces of the Kyuubi’s chakra. Fox only appeared a few years later, once Naruto was no longer in danger of sticking himself with his own sword thanks to his training. Fox’s record says he’s a handful of years older, and the similarities between his chakra and Minato's, as well as his ability to use the Hiraishin, mean most people write him off as some sort of clone. The assumption, in addition to what people have always said about his looks, makes Naruto either want to laugh himself half to death, or just makes him sick to his stomach, depending on his mood.

Tenzō knows differently, though if he’s ever put all the pieces together he’s never said anything. He was Naruto’s squad leader in the beginning, living with one wary eye constantly on Root’s movements and the other on the grieving, impossibly stubborn nine-year-old the Hokage placed in his care. Naruto doesn’t have any delusions that he would have survived without Tenzō there to alternately bully him forward and haul him back, no matter what Sarutobi says about his ability to turn every situation to his advantage. He’s impossibly grateful to the other man for it, though Tenzō was vastly uncomfortable the one time Naruto tried to thank him.

“And you _are_ my senpai,” Naruto adds in protest, only half-joking. “What else am I supposed to call you?”

Tenzō mutters something that sounds distinctly like ‘ _Now I know how Kakashi feels’_ , but doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “Thank you for covering my shift on the guard. My mission ran into a few…unexpected hurdles.”

Every ANBU—every _shinobi_ —has experienced the exact same thing at least once, so Naruto just waves him off with a grin. “No worries. Jiji isn’t that difficult to babysit. Just give him his pipe and he’s quiet for hours.”

“The Hokage would throw you out the window if he heard you talking about him like that,” Tenzō reminds him dryly.

That is also very true, and Naruto laughs, stretching his arms above his head and twisting to pop his spine. “Anything but that,” he says with mock horror. “I only just got all the ink out of my clothes from the last time he threw something at me.”

“I’d throw things at you too, if I wasn’t certain you’d throw them right back with an explosive tag attached. You're a terror, Fox.”

“Only as much as I learned from you, senpai,” Naruto counters with a grin. The moon is up, a slim crescent sailing between tattered clouds, and he watches it for a moment before flopping back to the stone and stretching out. “Mmph. Are you off for the next few days?”

“No.” Tenzō’s tone is regretful. “I have tomorrow off, but then the next day I start a six-week track and capture mission in the north. Someone spotted Hoshigaki Kisame near the border, and having missing-nin that strong wandering through Fire Country tends to make the Daimyo nervous.”

Naruto huffs, torn between relief that he’s not the one going—track and capture missions require patience he technically has, but absolutely hates to use—and jealousy that Tenzō is actually going to be able to leave the village. “You're lucky,” he finally settles on glumly, because surely anything is better than loitering around the village. Even training gets boring, after a while. “Jiji’s got me on light duties for the next _week_. I'm going to die of boredom.”

The other man makes a noise that is likely intended to be sympathetic, but just comes off as amused. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’d request your assistance with Kisame in a heartbeat,” Tenzō assures him, though he still sounds like he’s laughing at Naruto's pain. “I'm not eager to face down a man called the Tailless Tailed Beast with just the three of us.”

With an easy shrug, Naruto brushes that off. “Eh, you’ll be fine, sempai. Your Mokuton was enough to knock Danzo and half of Root on their asses. Kisame should be nothing, right?”

“That confidence is going to get you killed someday.” A callused hand reaches out and tugs at Naruto's ponytail, then pauses. “Hell, Fox, were you letting birds nest in here?”

Naruto scowls, sitting up again to favor his squad leader with a dark look and conveniently putting his knotted hair out of reach. Tenzō’s been known to start going after tangles with his fingers, and that’s an S-class torture disguised as a friendly gesture. “Hey, excuse you! I just got back from a mission, then had to cover _someone’s_ shift, and then I just passed out up here. There wasn’t a lot of time for—” That same hand shoves a newly-made wooden comb into his face. “Oh, whatever, you flashy jerk. You're not my mother.”

“Thankfully,” Tenzō agrees, dust-dry. “However, Genma, Shisui, and I were planning to meet for drinks in an hour, and I won't be seen in public with you until you at _least_ brush your hair.”

“At least? What do you _mean_ , ‘at least’? There's nothing wrong with me otherwise!” Even so, Naruto undoes the tie on his hair and starts rapidly brushing out a handful at a time.

“I have,” Tenzō says with devastating mildness, “a bullet-point list. Several of them, in fact. Would you like them in chronological order, or alphabetical?”

“You suck,” Naruto informs him darkly, wrenching ineffectually at a knot. “I'm going to _enjoy_ watching Genma drink you under the table again.”

Tenzō bristles. “Genma has never drunk me under the table!” he protests. “That’s _slander_!”

Naruto snorts. “Past experience begs to differ,” he retorts. “Last time we went out, you got so plastered you started composing sonnets to Hound’s cheekbones. It was painful to listen to. Don’t quit your day job anytime soon.”

Flushing a dull red, Tenzō crosses his arms over his chest. “They're very nice cheekbones,” is his incredibly weak defense. “Very strong.”

Naruto clears his throat, pitches his voice high and fluttery, and recites, “ _Oh, Kakashi-sempai, your cheekbones are like boney paths to the stars_ —ow! Senpai!”

Wielding the appropriated comb mercilessly, Tenzō attacks Naruto's hair with no regard to sensitive scalps or normal human pain tolerance. “Oh, look,” he says cheerfully. “We’re going to be late. Let me _help you with that,_ Fox.”

“You are a sadistic bastard and I don’t know what I ever did in a past life to deserve—OW!”

“I don’t mind being the well-liked benevolent leader,” Tenzō reminds him, “but I also have no problem ruling through pain and fear. Yours, specifically. It’s retribution for all the headaches you’ve caused me over the years.”

“ _I'm_ the one who has a headache now!” Naruto complains. “Lay off, senpai!”

Tenzō makes one more pass with the comb, then sets it aside. “Finished,” he says cheerfully, because he’s a bastard like that. “I don’t know what you're complaining about, Fox. That wasn’t so bad.”

“I'm going to put glue on your mask,” Naruto growls, but obediently pulls his hair back up into a high tail. “And I'm _definitely_ rooting for Genma tonight.”

“Any pranks and I’ll have you on reconnaissance missions for the next year,” Tenzō counters ruthlessly, then slaps Naruto's shoulder and rises to his feet. “Come on, and I’ll _show_ you how easy it is to drink Genma under the table.”

Naruto snorts, following him to the edge of the carved head and then over the side. “I'm going to laugh at you so hard tomorrow. I'm going to come in bright and early while you're still suffering from a hangover to end all hangovers, and then I'm going to point and laugh as loudly as I can. Maybe I’ll even bring a gong with me.”

“Reconnaissance missions,” Tenzō reminds him, landing lightly. “A _year_. Are you sure you want to risk it, Fox?”

Tenzō is just the kind of merciless bastard who will actually go through with it, so Naruto raises his hands in surrender and trails along obediently as they head into the village proper. “Fine, fine. But I reserve the right to bring up this conversation when you're suffering tomorrow and Genma is still as fresh as a daisy.”

“Impossible,” Tenzō says haughtily.

 

 

“Ow, ow, ow. Oh, why did you let me drink again?”

Because he’s not a complete asshole, Naruto passes over a glass of water and a handful of painkillers. He’s still grinning as he does so, though.

Genma, at least, has no compunctions laughing at the younger man. As Naruto predicted, the only sign that he put half the bar under their tables before calling it a night is a faint smell of alcohol still clinging to his clothes, since he’s the lucky type who’s probably never suffered through a hangover in his life.

“I maintain that it was you who challenged me,” he points out mirthfully. “And therefore this is your own fault, Captain.”

Tenzō shoots him a dirty look, then downs his coffee like it’s medicine and waves for another cup.

“You know, I always wondered what sort of super-secret bonding rituals ANBU members had,” Shisui says, lounging against the window with one elbow resting on the table and his other arm sprawled out along the back of their booth. “Then I actually _made_ ANBU, and now I see that it’s pretty much just going out, getting plastered, and then scraping your commanding officer off the floor when final call comes.”

Tenzō groans and drops his head onto his folded arms.

“You are such a lightweight,” Naruto teases without pity. “And you never realize that, because you never remember anything after the third round. It’d be sad if it wasn’t so funny.”

“Speaking of which,” Genma puts in, all innocence except for the spark of mischief in his hazel eyes, “when are we going to remind him that he volunteered to pick up the bill sometime after the fourth drink?”

This time, Tenzō’s beleaguered groan is wrenched up straight from the wallet.

“I was giving it another hour or two,” Shisui offers, grinning like a cat who’s spotted the door of the birdcage left open. “Small mercies and all that.”

Naruto snorts, pulling his legs up on the bench seat and crossing them under him. “You're a filthy liar, Shisui,” he charges gleefully. “You just want to see that barkeep hunt him down to settle the bill.”

“I remember her.” Genma's tone is admiring. “Quite the biceps, huh?”

“Careful, Gen, or you’ll make Raidou jealous, and then he’ll sulk horribly. It’s unbearable, watching a grown man pout like that.” When Genma flips him off, expression warring between amusement and offense, Naruto just laughs.

“I hope you know I'm going to remember this all in _vivid detail_ when I have to write up personnel reviews,” Tenzō bites out, muffled as it is by the tabletop. “And Sarutobi-sama has had to deal with you morons enough that he will be _happy_ to drop you down to D-ranks, do you hear me?”

“ _Oooh_ , someone’s cranky,” Genma murmurs, sotto voce. It’s not quite soft enough, however, and when Tenzō shoots him a murderous look, he grins lazily. “Captain, with all due respect, you need to get _laid_.”

Tenzō mutters something, and they all pretend they can't quite hear the _Kakashi-senpai never noticed me hitting on him_ that just makes it to their ears. Best to save at least some of their captain’s dignity, after all.

“Buck up, Captain,” Shisui advises cheerfully, leaning forward to pat Tenzō on the shoulder comfortingly. “Kakashi reads a lot of porn, so maybe you should cater to his fantasies. Oh! How about the classics? Everyone loves opening their door to a hot stripper, right? And you’ve definitely got the body for it.” He winks. “If I weren’t—”

“Agonizingly locked in unrequited and incestuous love with your genius cousin?” Genma offers impishly.

He gets a withering look in return, but honestly, with those ridiculously long eyelashes, it just doesn’t work. Shisui's face wasn’t built for glares. “If I weren’t _mostly straight with a few notable exceptions_ , I would totally do you. And Itachi is my _second_ cousin, thank you. Once removed, even.”

Tenzō eyes him warily. “I'm…not entirely certain that was a compliment. Or comforting. But…thank you, I think? You're fairly attractive as well.”

Naruto dissolves into cackles of wild laughter, even as Shisui gasps and clutches his heart as though mortally wounded. He even swoons for effect. “Oh! Captain, you're so cruel to me when I've only ever supported you in this one-sided love—”

Someone politely clears their throat, and Shisui opens one eye curiously, only to straighten up with a cheerful cry of, “Mikoto! Nice to see you, cousin!”

The woman eyes the other Uchiha, one brow politely arched, but her dark eyes are amused beneath her hitai-ate. “Shisui,” she returns. “You're the same as ever, I see. Keeping out of trouble?”

“Never,” he answers shamelessly. “But what brings you out here so bright and early? Need someone to babysit Sasu-chan again?”

Naruto is fairly certain that isn’t the case, and not just because Sasuke's finally reached an age where he can insist he doesn’t need a keeper. Mikoto is wearing her jounin uniform, but without the katana that’s her favored weapon. She doesn’t take a lot of shinobi missions anymore, preferring to focus on her duties as wife of the Clan Head, and she wouldn’t go on one without a sword. But any shinobi work she does in-village is generally with—

“Sorry, Shisui, but you’ll have to find some other excuse to torture my son.” She looks over at Naruto, who sits up a little straighter in his seat. “Fox, Ibiki wanted me to let you know that we got the necessary information and have sent it up to the Hokage for review. You might want to check in with him, since you're tapped for the follow-up.”

Uchiha Mikoto is one of T & I’s scariest interrogators. Between her and Ibiki, it’s no surprise Kidomaru is already spilling his guts. She’s a lot more inventive with the Sharingan than most of her clan, and one kunoichi Naruto would never want to meet on the battlefield. He’s careful to keep his body language impeccably polite as he gives her a salute and rises bonelessly from his seat, vaulting over Genma, who quickly ducks, on his way out of the booth.

“Thanks,” he offers as he lands. “I appreciate the message. And you’ve, uh…” He gestures at a place on his own cheek. “Missed a spot.”

Mikoto blushes, hurriedly raising a hand to rub at it. “Oops,” she says, a little sheepishly. “I think I’d best stop by the bathhouses before I head home. Better to let Itachi and Sasuke keep their illusions, right?” Her smile is as close to angelic as a woman with blood splatters on her face can get, and Naruto can't help but chuckle. Somehow, both Itachi and Sasuke have managed to plant their heads in the sand when it comes to their mother’s specialties, and she indulges them with equal parts amusement and forbearance.

Naruto has honestly never seen anything quite as amusing as Itachi metaphorically plugging his ears and humming loudly when it comes up in conversation.

With a friendly wave, the woman vanishes from the restaurant, and Naruto glances back at their table to see that Tenzō has finally managed to drag his head up off his arms. His dark eyes are concerned, but Naruto offers him a smile and a flick of his fingers. “If I don’t see you before you guys leave, good hunting.”

“The same to you,” Tenzō returns, but his frown is faintly worried. “You're on light duties right now. Surely the Hokage won't—?”

“For bureaucratic reasons,” Naruto reminds him swiftly, in lieu of the comforting smile his mask will hide. “He wanted to keep me on this mission, instead of splitting my attention. And with the way we’re understaffed right now…” He shrugs. “Easier this way. And I'm _fine_ , so there's no reason for you to worry, senpai.”

Tenzō nods, even though he doesn’t look entirely reassured. Before he can say anything more, though, Genma chimes in with a cheerful, “Break a leg, kid. And punch Orochimaru in the face a couple of times for me, okay?”

Naruto grins, because Genma is a fiercely protective person, and he’s shared more than enough barrack rooms with Tenzō to know about the other man’s nightmares. The tokujo doesn’t hide his contempt for madmen like Orochimaru, especially not when they’ve hurt someone he cares about. “If I see him, I’ll say it’s from you,” he promises, and Genma gives him a satisfied smirk.

“Stay safe,” is Shisui's contribution, and Naruto only just catches the sweet bean bun that comes flying at his face, the one part of their breakfast they managed to get to before teasing their suffering captain became too tempting. With a cheerful wave of thanks, he wraps it in a napkin and tucks it away to be eaten later, then concentrates on the chain of seals in the Hokage's office and prepares himself to duck any more flying ink bottles.

_Touch—_

and _step—_

and _land_ , as smooth as flowing water.

“Ah,” Sarutobi says, faintly dry. “How punctual. I’d only just decided to call you in, Fox.”

Not Naruto, not with an official mission on his desk and a vaguely familiar ANBU lurking in the shadows by the wall, an unfortunately even more familiar pair of advisors seated before the wide desk. But Naruto is used to that by now, and just bows to the Hokage, forcing himself from a Naruto-out-with-friends mindset to Fox-the-ANBU's state of mind. It’s hard, and for all his professionalism on a mission this stiff, forced personality won't last long, but it’s better than giving either of Danzo's former cronies even the smallest hint of who he is. Danzo was a master of long-term plans; there's every chance he foresaw his own death and made arrangements to circumvent it. Sasori of the Red Sand did something similar, after all.

“Uchiha Mikoto brought me the news, Hokage-sama,” he demurs.

Sarutobi nods easily, and immediately pushes a slim file across the desk. Naruto takes it, flipping through it quickly. The complex’s layout, guard rotations, manpower, security weaknesses—Mikoto and Ibiki are as thorough as ever, it seems.

“We know that Orochimaru has the body of at least one Uchiha in his possession,” Sarutobi says levelly. “The Uchiha Clan would, of course, prefer to have it returned to them, but if such a thing is impossible, they ask that you destroy it completely. It is imperative that Orochimaru does not retain the Sharingan, and you are authorized to ensure that by any means possible. That said, discretion is the better part of valor here. I would prefer not to cause an incident with the Daimyo of Rice Paddy Country, which is why you are being sent in alone. Any questions, Fox?”

Naruto thinks of Tenzō, of the really bad nights where he wakes screaming, remembering test tubes and dissected children and far too many small bodies discarded like trash when the experiments failed. Thinks, and has to breathe out long and slow, because if he remembers one thing his parents taught him, it’s to always protect those precious to him, no matter what. No matter the cost. Orochimaru doesn’t know Tenzō survived, but if he _did_ —

Well. The Snake Sannin is a genius, and there's hardly a hope that he’ll never manage to infiltrate Konoha. No assurance that he hasn’t already. And if he does find out that his only successful experiment managed to survive all these years, and grow so powerful, he’d try to take him back in a heartbeat. Naruto will die before he lets that happen.

“Just one, Hokage-sama,” he says evenly. “Do you want me to keep the base in one piece?”

That _might_ be a roll of Sarutobi's eyes, hidden from his advisors and _almost_ hidden from Naruto, who has to fight a grin. “I’ll leave that up to your discretion,” is all the Sandaime says, which might as well be a resounding _no_ to Naruto's ears. By the wry tilt to his lips, Sarutobi knows it, too. “Very well, Fox. If that’s all, you're dismissed. Good luck.”

Naruto bows to the Hokage and his advisors, then takes a step back. His specialization with the Hiraishin is well-known, so he doesn’t bother using the window to leave, doesn’t try to hide this one thing his father left him. He calls his chakra up, wraps it around him, and in that moment he can almost hear his father’s voice in his ear—

_Don’t tell your mother I'm showing you this, okay, Naruto? But it’s not really that hard. People just get intimidated by the amount of chakra you need to use to start off. You should be fine, though, since you’ve got even more than me!_

_So focus. Feel where the destination seal is in your mind—that seal on the back of your neck connects you to it—and think of it like a doorway. Use your chakra to push it open, and then just—_

And trip, feet tangled in charred or bloody or tattered uniforms left discarded when missions ran too close together to care about the little things. Naruto just manages not to land on his face, slapping his hands down and twisting his body into a half-hearted flip that leaves him crouching on the far side of the pile. He mutters a curse at himself, then stands, already shedding his standard jounin uniform in favor of ANBU's black clothing and grey flak jacket, strapping his sword across his back and seizing the pre-packed sealing scroll that holds all of the extra equipment and supplies he might need.

A hesitation, and he thinks of Orochimaru’s file in the ANBU briefing room, a good four inches thick and nearly as menacing as the man himself. With a faint grimace, he grabs another scroll, this time filled with Hiraishin kunai, just to be safe. There's no use in going if he just gets himself killed.

When he pushes out into the corridors of Headquarters, they're nearly empty. The only one he sees in the hall is Yugao, blood-splattered and weary even as she gives him a smile. Naruto waves back, then slides into a run so she won't feel obligated to stay and talk when she looks so tired. Between the uprising in Kiri, the unrest in Ame, and the number of missing-nin suddenly on the move, there's a high demand for ANBU right now, and they're all being run into the ground.

The forest around the base of the Hokage Mountain is equally empty, but that’s the way it usually is. There are seals here to create unease in those who don’t know what's hidden behind them, to turn away the eyes of civilians and shinobi alike. ANBU is a separate existence, a secret one, and for all that their masks do little to hide them from those who know them, no one ever acknowledges knowing an ANBU's identity. It’s safer for everyone that way. But it’s also…lonely, Naruto thinks, dropping to a walk at the edge of the trees. He hadn’t realized, as a child, what it was to have people look at you, look _through_ you, and then look away, even if it was for your own good.

And then, of course, there were the weeks where those looks _hadn’t_ been for his own good. He’d always been a friendly child, and the villagers had loved him, the bright son of their brilliant Hokage and his vivid wife. There had always been smiles, cheerful greetings, and then—

And then the Kyuubi came, leaving a swath of destruction in its wake, and suddenly the only word on anyone’s lips was _monster_. They didn’t see _him_ anymore, just the beast trapped in his soul, and it _ached_. It made him _angry_ , because how could they? How could they do that to him, when he’d just lost his parents, the little brother he’d never even had the chance to know? How could they, when they’d always treated Kushina fairly, and Mito before her? To a little boy still grieving, it had made no sense, and hurt all the more for that.

It was only a month, only four weeks between the Kyuubi’s attack and Namikaze Naruto's “death”, but in those four weeks Naruto had come face-to-face with how people reacted to fear, and it was shocking. It had left him shaken, reeling, and at some point he’d just—stopped looking. Stopped looking them in the face, stopped trying to see any hint of the people he’d known before, stopped trying to change their minds through loudness or cheerfulness or anything of the sort.

Sarutobi offering to put him in ANBU came almost as a relief.

Letting out a slow breath, Naruto approaches the stark grey Memorial Stone and sinks to one knee before it, brushing a handful of half-withered flowers away from the base. The names he wants are easy to find, their location memorized after so many years, and he reaches out to trace them with reverent fingers.

_Namikaze Minato._

_Uzumaki Kushina_.

( _I'm fairly certain this is not a healthy way of coping, Fox_ , Tenzō murmurs in his memories, and Naruto _knows_ that, but he honestly doesn’t care.)

“Hey,” he whispers to whatever ghosts are watching him, managing a small smile. It still hurts, their loss. It hurts more than any wound he’s ever suffered, and sometimes he suspects it always will. “I've got another mission, so I won't be around for a few days. Wish me luck, Kaa-san, Tou-san. Maybe this time I’ll actually get a hand on that traitor Orochimaru. Tenzō’s still scared of him, even if he’ll never say so, and I hate it. He’s so strong, he shouldn’t be scared. But I guess Orochimaru is his monster, and he’s the only one who can change that.” He sinks back, settling on his knees, and wishes he could raise his mask, just this once. But not doing so is ingrained in him at this point, and though his fingers trace the edge of the smooth porcelain, he resists the urge.

“I've been working on the chakra chains,” he tells his mother softly. “No one knows I can do them yet, not even the Hokage. I bet it’ll shock him, when I get them down. I think you’d be proud, Kaa-san. I'm pretty good with them. And I've gotten even faster with the Hiraishin, Tou-san. I'm nearly as fast as you now. Just need to work on getting better at sorting through destinations from a distance. The kunai are easy, but jumping without them is still hard. I…wish you were here to help. I bet you had all sorts of tricks you didn’t get the time to teach me.”

The Stone is silent, the way it always is. The hush echoes, spreading like ripples of freezing cold right down to Naruto's bones, and he clenches his hands into fists inside his fingerless gloves, forcing himself not to drop his gaze from those carved names. It just—

It hurts _so much_.

He takes a breath, lets it out slow and careful. There's a twist of _other_ inside of him as Kurama raises his head, ears flicking up, and then subsides without a word. Naruto is…grateful. He knows what happened wasn’t Kurama's choice, knows that Kurama was a weapon in someone else’s hand just as much as Obito was, but sometimes it’s harder to remember. Here especially.

Another breath, careful and steady, and Naruto pushes to his feet, leaning forward to touch his parents’ names one more time. “I’ll bring you guys some flowers when I get back from my mission,” he says, forcing a note of cheer into his voice. “Roses, because they're the color of your beautiful hair, Kaa-san.” He hesitates, wavers, and then whispers, “I miss you guys. Love you. Always, okay?”

A step back, away. Another inhalation, carrying determination and resolve like oxygen, and then he turns and vanishes in a flash of yellow light.


	4. five of wands, exalted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for missing last week’s update (in favor of almost 25k of Shinobi Den Mother!fluff, whoops), but never fear. I am having a shameless amount of fun writing this, so I'm not about to cease and desist. Suffer my ridiculousness, please and thank you. :)
> 
> (Also, how did all that vaguely KakaObi-flavored angst sneak in there I totally did not mean for that to happen oops)

_[The Five of Wands card, upright: Competition, the possibility of a fight, obstacles, or courage._

_The Suite of Wands usually predicts energy, growth, enterprise, animation, and glory.]_

Kakashi isn’t entirely certain why he visits the Memorial anymore.

Minato, Kushina, and Rin are all pieces of it, of course. They were precious and now they're dead, and of course Kakashi mourns them. Their loss is a tearing ache within him, never easing, only forgettable in the desperate crush of an ANBU mission, and even then not for long. But—

But they're not the reason he started coming here, and they're not the only reason why he keeps with it.

Obito is the reason, the cause. Obito is his failure and his tragedy, because he never _saw_. Because surely there had to have been some spark of madness within the black sheep of the Uchiha. Surely it couldn’t all have been born overnight in some fit of rage and grief.

( _You killed her_ , Obito had snarled at him, mask smashed to pieces as Kushina’s chakra chains held him down. _You killed Rin, so I’ll kill you!_

In that moment, Kakashi might even have let him.)

He’d struggled free, made to run, to disappear with his strange Mangekyo, but Minato had chased him and Kushina had thrown all of her remaining power into one final blow. It had mixed with Minato's Rasengan, infused with the Kyuubi’s chakra, and just as Obito had slipped through into somewhere else, it had caught him in the heart. And—

A scream. A scream that will haunt Kakashi forever, no matter what Obito did to earn it. Because he _knows_ Obito, and he remembers Obito's stubborn silence when half of his body was crushed. There was no scream then, not even a whimper, so how much more must that final blow have hurt?

It doesn’t do to dwell on it. There's no purpose lingering over the memories. Kakashi will do so regardless, because beyond the eye that earned him his title it’s all he has left of his teammate. Twisted and broken memories, painful to so much as contemplate, but they’re of Obito, and Kakashi, through his fault alone, has few enough of those as it is.

( _If I had been a better friend_ , he thinks. _If I had been there for him. If he hadn’t felt that Rin was his only refuge in the entirety of the world, what would have changed that night?_ )

There's no way of knowing, but Kakashi can think of little else all the same.

He rounds the stand of trees that borders the Memorial, recalling training here, remembering stealing the bels from Minato's belt with a surge of triumph, for the first time since his father’s death more _we did it_ than _I did it_. Remembering spars, Obito with his eyes alight, features focused, intense. Kakashi always called him a loser, weak, but…he wasn’t. Not really. Not on Kakashi's level, not then, of course, but…strong. His taijutsu was decent, unpredictable, and his determination never wavered. Not until—

( _Darkness, fires spreading. Kushina dying from having the Kyuubi ripped from her, Minato exhausted and desperate, torn between his family and his village. And Naruto, fierce, fearless Naruto, all of seven with his face set into impossibly stubborn lines, facing down the masked man who had attacked them. He’d said something, though Kakashi was too far away to hear what, and Obito had…paused. He’d stopped and looked down, face bare and haunted in the flickering light, and then—_ )

Foreign chakra. Kakashi knows that much, could recognize the difference between Obito and _other_ even in the midst of a tragedy. It had writhed over him, wrapped around him, and Obito had clearly fought it, but it hadn’t been enough. He’d laughed, choked and desperate, lunged at Minato only to have Kushina wrap him in her chakra chains and hold him back as Minato called a Rasengan.

It might have worked, might have killed Obito then, but the Kyuubi had come. Kakashi had been left to face his former friend, bewildered and aching, as Minato and Kushina both turned their attention on the demon fox and their two sons. Both of their enemies that day had fallen, but Kakashi can't help but wonder if that was all of them. If Obito was the mastermind.

He doesn’t want to believe it. Doesn’t want to imagine that Obito, even in the grasp of madness, could have _truly_ attempted to kill Minato and Kushina’s newborn son, or the boy he used to babysit. But he’d lunged while the Kyuubi’s attention was divided, had made one last attempt to get to the baby, and it had cost him his life.

Someday, someday soon, Kakashi will be competent enough with their shared Mangekyo to slip into that dimension Obito used. He’ll go and retrieve whatever is left of Obito's body, bring him home to bury him, even if he has to do it by himself in secret.

Because Obito hesitated. Because Obito stopped when faced with a little blond boy who’d once called him _Obi-nii_ , and he hadn’t struck even though he easily could have. Surely that means _something_ , right?

A flicker of movement up ahead, and Kakashi pauses, more surprised than wary. It’s the middle of the day, and people don’t usually visit the Memorial at this time. For the most part, Kakashi has to himself. But he can see the figure kneeling before it as he approaches, can make out the flak jacket of an active shinobi and halts, debating. He only has a short time before he’s supposed to meet his team, and he wants to spend as long as possible lingering over what few good memories he has. At the same time, it’s only polite to give another shinobi privacy in their mourning, even though Kakashi rarely spares any attention for social niceties.

And then the shinobi rises to his feet, and Kakashi stiffens slightly at the sight of a high black ponytail, a Hiraishin kunai tucked through the teenager’s belt. Fox leans forward, fingers brushing across carved names, and Kakashi knows without hesitation or doubt which names he came to visit.

A clone, people whisper, when they see him. The Yondaime’s clone, or some creature of Orochimaru’s with new cells fitted in like jigsaw pieces jammed haphazardly into the wrong places. After all, Tenzō is fairly well-known for his abilities, for the Mokuton that he uses like breathing. Only sensible, to expect Orochimaru to have done the same thing with their genius Yellow Flash’s abilities. It’s why he hides his face all the time, they say, even when he’s not on missions. Too much like the Yondaime, and he’s trying to be his own person.

But Kakashi—

Kakashi _knows_.

There was a body, one month after Minato, Kushina, and the baby died. A tiny, mangled corpse with blond hair and blue eyes frozen wide in death. Kakashi had seen it, lifted it, carried it to the Hokage with grief tearing at him like red-hot knives and _failure, I failed_ bleeding poison into his brain.

For two years, he had thought that the Namikaze family had died out, that not one single person of those precious to him remained.

But all that had vanished with a flash of yellow light.

Fox is Naruto. Kakashi knows it as well as he knows his own name. But he also knows that Naruto is hiding in plain sight, concealed beneath silent misdirection and the village’s certainty that Namikaze Naruto died twelve years ago. Kakashi can't do anything to risk that, because as strong as Fox is, as strong as Naruto has become, Minato's legacy in other countries is one of fearful awe, and his enemies won't hesitate to descend on Naruto like a pack of rabid wolves if news of his identity gets out. Naruto is only one man, after all, and though Kakashi is certain every shinobi in Konoha would protect him to the best of their ability, an enemy only has to get lucky once.

So he puts on a mask, a show. It’s easy. Familiar, to act like Hound resents Fox, to turn away whenever Naruto comes near. To avoid him, and never let Naruto feel the way Kakashi's eyes linger on him, desperate to find even one small trace of blond in his hair, or to match the blue of his eyes to his father’s. Hound is cold and distant, no matter how cheerful Fox is, no matter how many times he wants to drag Naruto into a hug and hold on until there's no more risk of losing the boy who is one of his only remaining precious people.

But he can't, not until enough of Minato's old enemies die out that Fox can finally take off his mask for good.

(Kakashi is always first in line for those particular missions, when the kill orders come in.)

A few final whispered words, too soft to hear, and Fox steps away. He lifts his head, squares his shoulders, and vanishes in a flash of yellow light so familiar it makes Kakashi _ache_. He clenches his hands into fists, fights the grief back for a long moment before he can finally step forward without faltering. He has no flowers for the Memorial this time, so he just tucks his hands into his pockets and stares at the names engraved on the stone. Obito's is still here, because no one had the heart to sand it out, and Kakashi's gaze falls on it first, the way it always does.

(He imagines, sometimes, that there's a figure standing beside him. A man, a few inches shorter, with unruly dark hair and the cloth of his hitai-ate pulled down across his missing left eye. Imagines that man, so familiar, raising a hand to wipe at the tears tracing down his scarred cheek, and glaring at Kakashi halfheartedly for noticing. And maybe it’s masochistic, but Kakashi thinks of that and _wants_ , because he’ll always be a sorry, selfish bastard entirely mired in the past, unable to focus on reality when his grief gets in the way.)

“Hey, Minato-sensei,” he says softly. “Hey, Kushina. Hey, Rin.”

 _Hey, Obito_ , he adds silently, but he means it just as much. _His_ Obito, the boy who died for him, the boy who definitely would have become a man similar to the one he imagines. Not the mad murderer who first appeared, but—the one he caught glimpses of, during their fight. The one he recognized in wide black eyes and aim the slightest bit off-center, blows that should have connected but…didn’t.

Because Obito froze, when Naruto stepped between him and his parents. Obito stopped, and surely, surely, that’s worth Kakashi's grief.

(Sometimes he thinks it might just be worth everything.)

 

 

He doesn’t push himself quite as hard returning to Orochimaru’s base as he did coming back. Hiraishin jumps are convenient, especially because Naruto has left seals scattered across Fire Country for occasions just like this, but too many close together, over long distances, wear on him quickly. He’s got too much chakra to be as precise as his father, though most people can't tell that there's a difference, and it means his Hiraishin isn’t nearly as efficient.

So he takes his time. He takes rests to review the file, runs between each jump, flashing across branches and leaping between widely-spaced trunks, light on his feet and as silent as the fox he’s called. There's a frisson of excitement down his spine, a flicker of anticipation, because Naruto has always loved to push himself right to the edge. Recklessness has a sort of freedom about it, after a lifetime wearing a mask. It’s a small rebellion, maybe, but Naruto loves it all the more for that. He won't endanger his mission, but this is him alone. There's no team relying on him, no partner whose back he has to watch. The entirety of the mission rests on his skills, his stealth and speed, and it’s invigorating.

A breath, and Naruto casts his attention ahead. Not quite chakra sensing, but…awareness. Half an instant of seeing the world as if from a great height, with points of light blazing across its surface. A concentration of them—Konoha—and then trails like out-flung tendrils, branching rivers flowing away. Each one sings with a different tone, notes on a scale to tell him where each is. High and bright—that’s a tree beside the cave where he caught Kakuzu, trying to set up spy networks within Fire Country. A lower, deeper pitch—that’s the mountain peak where he and Yugito sometimes meet, to spar and trade what bits of non-sensitive news they have.

And there, still humming with energy like a struck chime, is the last mark he left, when he and Itachi finally reached Rice Paddy Country.

_Touch—_

and _step—_

 _Land_ , light and silent, already poised to move.

But there's no one. The forest is still and empty even of wildlife, not a bird left among the branches. They know something’s wrong here, even more than the civilians who have left the surrounding area. And it’s not just Orochimaru’s guards taking potshots at birds and humans alike—the Snake leaves a miasma behind him, cold and mad.

Naruto thinks of those chilly golden eyes, thinks of Tenzō’s frequent nightmares, and grimaces. He knows that Jiraiya has always held hope that Orochimaru can be redeemed, that maybe the insanity of his god-complex and almost frenzied search for immortality can be undone, and Naruto wants to believe the same. He always wants that, part of ANBU or not, because that’s how he is, and all his training in assassination won't make a difference to his heart. But he can acknowledge that it’s a slim chance, if it even exists.

There are patrols through the forest, either an hour or an hour and a half apart, depending on random chance. Naruto can't sense anyone at the moment, and he would likely be able to if they were nearby. Kurama's ability to feel negative emotions isn’t as strong as it would be if he had his Yin chakra, but it’s still present, and Orochimaru’s shinobi are generally angry about _something_. He pauses under the overhanging branches of a willow, debating his next move. This is a decent spot, and patrols will have to pass close enough that he’ll feel them. It’s out of sight, and far enough out of the way that no one will stumble on him without some warning—the reason he and Itachi set up camp here the first time.

Besides, it’s peaceful. There's a tiny stream wending its way through the willow’s roots, barely a murmur in the forest’s hush, and the grass is soft. Decided, Naruto drops down on a protruding root and crosses his legs under him, pulling out the rough map of Orochimaru’s compound and scanning for entry points.

As far as that goes, there aren’t many. Orochimaru is decidedly paranoid—not without reason, admittedly; if Naruto had Jiraiya dogging his every step he’d be pretty twitchy too—and though he doubtless has plenty of emergency exits, he never shared them with Kidomaru. Still, Kidomaru was observant, and at Mikoto’s, er, _pointed insistence_ shared those observations with T &I. There's a ventilation shaft on the far side of the compound, which will mean a bit of tricky navigation to get to it in the half-hour Naruto's giving himself, but it should be wide enough for Naruto, who has the lean build both of his parents shared. 

So. In through the ventilation shaft—trapped, of course, but Naruto is certain he can manage to disarm them quickly enough—which comes out in a corridor between two smaller science labs. If Orochimaru has an Uchiha’s body, it’s likely his main priority at the moment, so it will be in his personal lab, near the hideout’s center.

Naruto pauses and taps a finger against the map thoughtfully, considering the layout. The quickest path to the center runs through several training rooms, where shinobi tend to congregate. While Naruto has a lot of faith in his sneakiness, that’s pushing it even for him. A safer path will take him on a roundabout route, through the cells where Orochimaru holds his prisoners and future experiments, which means fewer shinobi, but those who are there will be on guard.

This is the part, Naruto thinks with some frustration, that he wishes Itachi was here for. Or even Tenzō. (Not Shisui. Shisui tends to feed Naruto's recklessness, and vice versa. When presented with problems like this without someone to talk sense into them, there's every possibility that they’ll end up charging straight through without heed. It drives their captain absolutely nuts, which is admittedly one of the reasons they do it so often.) Those two tend to force him to stop and think and pick the safer option, even when he doesn’t realize it. After all, he’s never reckless with _their_ safety, even if he is with his own.

 _Pretend they're with me,_ Naruto tells himself, narrowing his eyes at the map. _Forget the training, go with my instincts_. Which would make his trainer cry, probably, to hear him say, but Naruto's always worked better on spur-of-the-moment tactics than any sort of long-term strategy. That’s what being paired with other people is for. His gut and his intuition are his greatest advantages, because they make him unpredictable. _I'm leading a squad through, have to get them safely to the other side. Which route is best?_

Unwary shinobi, with more chances of being seen? Or the vigilant guards, scattered though they are?

 _Guards_ , Naruto decides finally, blue eyes narrowing on the shaded cellblock. _I can't predict the number of shinobi training at any given time, but I_ can _guess how many guards Orochimaru puts on his prisoners. Three entrances to the prison, two cellblocks. Say two guards on each of the doors, and then a pair on patrol through the cells. That means passing at least four guards, maybe six if my luck is bad. Or…_

He grins, an idea coming to mind. Eight guards will be easy enough to deal with, especially grouped in separate pairs. And a jailbreak will be exactly the sort of distraction to draw Orochimaru out of his labs. Besides, Naruto has absolutely no intention of leaving the base intact, and setting the prisoners free seems like a good start.

 ** _Devious, brat. I approve_** , a rumbling growl puts in, and Naruto chuckles softly, turning his attention to his tenant.

_Finally woke up, you old grump?_

Kurama huffs, and Naruto can sense him curling up in the darkness, tucking his nose under his tails with a stubborn sort of sleepiness. **_Hard to sleep with you cackling to yourself like that_** , he retorts. **_At least plot quietly, if you're going to leave me out of the fun_**.

Naruto considers it for a moment before reluctantly setting the idea aside. If anyone will recognize Kurama's chakra, it will be Orochimaru, who’s made a study of the bijuu and their power. As much as he’d like to give Kurama free rein, it’s too big of a risk. _Sorry, fuzzball. Not this time. But as soon as we get some leave, I’ll find a safe place to let you out and we can have some fun of our own._

Kurama gives a rumbling huff that Naruto translates as grudging gratitude. Deep down, he knows the fox is actually fairly accepting of his circumstances, now that he and Naruto have come to an agreement, but Kurama is too attached to his grumpy old man persona to ever admit it.

There's a long, deliberate pause, and then, **_If you need me—_**

 _I’ll let you know,_ Naruto agrees immediately, feeling a flare of warmth. Kurama indirectly killed his parents, yes, but he was a weapon and nothing else. A very, very reluctant weapon, given the way he still reacts to any Uchiha nearby. Even Shisui, good-natured and cheerful, earns nothing but growls and wariness, and Naruto really can't blame the fox. To be stripped of his will, turned into a mindless beast when he has memories of the Sage of Six Paths himself, when he’s one of the most powerful creatures in their world—that must grate.

**_Then get going, brat, or you’ll miss your opportunity. That patrol is passing right now._ **

Kurama's right, Naruto realizes with a start, turning his attention outward. There's a tight knot of malevolence passing to the east, just beyond the range of his more physical senses, and that means Naruto has half an hour to make his move. Quickly, he refolds the map, tucks it away, and leaps up through the willow’s concealing boughs and into the sturdier branches of the trees surrounding it. Half a second to get his bearings and he runs, careful to keep his steps soundless. If his calculations are right, even at his fastest it will take almost all of that time to circle the compound, and he wants to be well out of sight before the patrol returns.

 

 

The vent is just narrow enough that Naruto is grateful for his recent rash of stressful missions and skipped meals, and even then he has to abandon his flak jacket in a tree so that he’ll fit. Were he three kilograms heavier or even a few centimeters wider at the shoulders, he’d probably end up wedged, and then his teammates would laugh their asses off until they actually, literally died. As it is, slithering down snake-like is ironically incredibly appropriate, given his target, and keeps his decent quiet as he disarms the decidedly nasty traps Orochimaru laid every few meters.

He’s scratched, scraped, and slightly pissed off by the time he reaches the grate at the bottom, only refraining from swearing out loud because he doesn’t know for certain that the corridor below is clear. He can generally sense Orochimaru’s shinobi through their negative emotions, but with so much riding on remaining undiscovered, he can't rely solely on that in here. There's always the risk that some scientist will be too distracted by their data to feel upset, or that a shinobi worked out all of their aggression in a spar, or something like that.

Because of that, he pauses at the grate, upside-down with his knees braced against the metal to hold him up. The hallway is silent, and Naruto hopes it really is as disused as Kidomaru said. He takes a breath, fishes a Hiraishin kunai out of his belt, and pushes it through the narrow grating. Another half a heartbeat, double-checking that there's no sound from below, and Naruto lets it drop. Halfway down and then—

The world _folds—_

_shifts—_

settles. Naruto flips in the air, catches the kunai, and lands cat-quiet on the cold stone floor. He pauses, waiting breathlessly for some sound, some sudden shout to say he’s been seen, but there's nothing. After a moment, he straightens and tucks the kunai away, smiling to himself. No grating moved, no signs he came in this way beyond the disarmed traps, and a straight path to the cellblock. This mission is looking better and better.

He’s not quite careless enough to hum as he heads left down the corridor, but he does allow himself a grin behind his mask. It’s echoing down here, and while that means he’ll have to be more careful than normal to stay quiet, it also means that Orochimaru’s shinobi, safe in their hidden base, are nowhere near as wary. He’ll be able to hear them coming from a good distance, and that’s all the advantage Naruto has ever needed. He’s focused on speed in his training above all else, trying desperately to reach a level similar to his father’s, and it’s paid off. Not even Itachi can match him now where being quick is concerned.

There's a support pillar around the next corner. Naruto pauses next to it, but he barely takes the time to debate the idea in his head before he crouches down and starts scratching one of his more explosive seals into the base with a kunai. It’s always good to have backup plans, and if he can slap similar seals on enough of these columns, blowing the base will be easy to do, even from a distance. And if he _does_ end up getting cornered, there's no better distraction than dropping the roof on someone’s head. Besides, Naruto has faith that if he has to use this Plan B, he’ll still be able to get out in… Well.

To borrow on some of his father’s unrelenting corniness, in a flash.

(His mother would have groaned and smacked his father, he remembers with a wistful smile. Minato would have yelped and flailed and looked utterly bewildered, giving her wide, wounded blue eyes and protesting that he was _always cool, Kushina, what was that for, are you setting a bad example for our son_ —

Kushina would have rolled her eyes at that and traded commiserating glances with Naruto, long-suffering but with laughter hidden in her eyes and—

But he can't think about them right now. He _can't_ , because nothing distracts him quite as well as his happy memories, and he can't afford that here. Later, when he’s alone, when there's no reason not to pull them out and turn them over in his mind like precious stones. Then he can indulge. Not now.)

A breath, careful and controlled, and Naruto makes himself grin even though it’s hidden behind his mask. _Smile, smile, be cheerful, don’t let it bring you down, just keep smiling and being cheerful and you can get through anything_.

Not his parents’ lesson this time, but Naruto's own, learned through trial and error after his world ended in blood and fire and loss.

 _Enough. It’s not the time for this. Keep moving_.

He takes another breath, and does.

There are four more main support pillars on his path, and Naruto takes time to mark each of them before moving ahead. The shadows are thick here, lights spaced far apart, and the two times he’s encountered Sound shinobi he’s been able to slip a little deeper into the darkness and hold himself still, and they’ve walked right past. It’s a relief, because there's no way to get noticed like leaving a trail of dead bodies, even in one of Orochimaru’s hideouts. But the cellblock is just ahead, and—

A shiver down his spine, like eyes on him. A flicker of killing intent, unspeakably vast and as abrasive as razors peeling up his skin. Almost…demonic, but not like any bijuu he’s encountered. Naruto hears the near-silent footstep behind him, just the faintest slip of cloth, and dives forward, away from the slash of a blade aimed at his back, rolling and coming up to his feet with a kunai in hand as he spins.

The kunai clangs against another, curved inward in the style of Kirigakure, and holds. Naruto narrows his eyes, gaze locked with the tall, pale, dark-haired man towering over him even as he fights not to give ground. Whoever this is, he’s _strong_ , stronger than Naruto would have guessed even given his visible muscles, unusual for someone so silent.

The man growls, abruptly shoving forward, and Naruto realizes in an instant that he’s not going to be able to hold him back. He disengages and ducks to the side, spinning out of the way and aiming a speed-blurred kick at the man’s spine as he passes. The stranger dodges, Naruto's foot just slipping past his side, and lunges with his fist leading. In no mood to see what that kind of physical strength will do to his flesh, Naruto drops low, sweeps the man’s feet out from under him, and rolls out of the way as he falls. He shifts his grip on his three-bladed kunai, preparing to drive it into the man’s throat and kill him quickly, but—

A clang, and the curved kunai blocks him. This time, the stranger doesn’t hesitate to push forward, having clearly gauged Naruto's physical strength, and it’s powerful enough to make Naruto retreat. He leaps backwards, cursing the confines of the hall that keep him from using his speed to its full advantage, and flings his kunai. The man dodges it, derision clear on his face, but for once Naruto doesn’t wait around to taunt him. No time for finesse, so—

Grab—

 _pull_ —

and the world reforms. Naruto spins, ducking low even as the stranger turns, and slides right past his feet. His fingers glance over the bare skin of an elbow and a black mark blooms, a chain of seals writing themselves into the man’s skin. There's half a second for triumph before Naruto rolls to his feet again, dodging the kunai that buries itself in the floor and lashing out with one foot leading. The man slips past it, but Naruto ducks the incoming punch and strikes, hand flat like a blade, at his opponent’s ribs. He falls back just before it connects, though, and Naruto has to dive past him to avoid a second kunai aimed at his gut. Something metal slices through the air behind him, just skimming his hair, and—

There's a sharp _pull_ , a snap that seems impossibly loud in the tense silence, and when Naruto rises to his feet a blur of white tumbles away from his face, hitting the floor with a deafening clatter.

Naruto freezes, for one half-second completely unable to comprehend the sight of his mask on the ground, unused to the sudden wideness of his range of vision, the kiss of cool air on his cheeks. He’s _never_ lost his mask before, not even facing opponents like Kakuzu—

Half a second is his undoing.


	5. the wheel of fortune, diminished

_[The Wheel of Fortune card, reversed: Failure, bad luck, interruption, the interference of outside influences, bad fate, and unexpected events._

_The Major Arcana (also called the trump cards) represent major, lasting changes and influences on the subject or the natural world surrounding them.]_

 

A strong arm snakes around his throat, yanking him back against a broad chest and tightening until Naruto chokes, struggling for breath. He kicks out, snaps a hand towards his weapons pouch for another kunai, a seal, anything at all, but the man’s other hand grabs one wrist and then the other, pins them against Naruto’s sides even as Naruto fights back, squirming and thrashing.

“Stop it!” the man snarls in his ear, voice low. “Shout for help and I won't hesitate to slit your throat, got it?”

Sheer confusion makes Naruto pause, his mind leaping ahead to put the pieces together. One of Orochimaru’s shinobi wouldn’t care if he shouted. In fact, _they’d_ probably be the ones shouting, calling for backup, announcing an intruder. But this man—their fight was entirely silent, not a sound beyond their kunai striking, and that means he’s trying not to announce his presence. That means he doesn’t want to be found.

It takes a lot of effort not to roll his eyes. Of _course_ Naruto's luck means that the one person he’d run into while invading an enemy base would _also_ be invading said base.

Annoyed at himself and the situation equally, Naruto manages a slight nod, letting his body relax in the man’s grip. There's a hesitation, suspicious and wary, but slowly the stranger also eases his hold on Naruto's throat. Naruto sucks in a grateful breath, ignoring the ache that’s already starting up, and rasps out, “Back off, bastard, I'm not Oto. I'm from Konoha.”

There's a sharp breath in, right next to his ear, and Naruto takes advantage of the man’s surprise to focus for a heartbeat. It’s simple enough to choose what to take with him—or not take with him, as the case may be—when he jumps, so he just…

grab—

pull—

 _step_ —

and lands, light-footed but slightly unsteady, beside his kunai, five paces behind the man. He coughs and rubs his throat with a grimace, already able to imagine Shisui's teasing. He _never_ lets himself get grabbed, and to do so now because he lost his mask? Pathetic.

And his mask is still lying by the stranger’s feet, clearly out of reach for the moment. Naruto makes a face as the bastard turns sharply towards him, brushing a few strands of long black hair out of his eyes. He feels…vulnerable. Weird, to be out in the open without the barrier of porcelain he’s used to protect himself for so many years. The man’s eyes are fixed on him, narrowed and assessing, and Naruto meets them with a glare of his own, tipping his chin up and refusing to hide.

“I don’t know you,” the man says after a long second, voice still distrustful. “I know every Konoha shinobi above B-rank in the Bingo Book, but you're not one of them, pretty boy.”

Naruto huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head at the mask lying by the man’s left sandal. He is most _certainly_ above B-rank, thanks. “Yeah, well, I don’t usually run around without my mask on. Give it back.”

The pause is finally giving him a second to assess beyond _strong-fast-duck-evade_ , and Naruto studies the huge, single-edged broadsword strapped to the man’s back. It’s vaguely familiar, and that, combined with the Kiri kunai, the striped wrist- and leg-warmers, and the bandages—

“Momochi Zabuza,” he says as the realization sets in, eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you doing so far away from Kiri, especially with a revolution going on?”

Zabuza gives him one last calculating glance, then reaches down and picks up Naruto's mask, turning it over so the orange-painted fox-face is visible. Narrow black brows jerk upwards, and then the man laughs, rough and amused. “Konoha's Fox. I should have guessed, what with how you kept bouncing around like a jumpy cricket.”

Naruto would be offended, except he’s heard it before. No, wait, actually he’s _still_ offended, because he doesn’t want to hear a man whose greatest talent is sneaking up behind other people in the mist pointing verbal fingers at anyone over fighting styles. He growls low and sharp as he shifts forward, debating the merits of just jumping the fucker and _taking_ his mask back. He’s still got a mission to complete, after all, and the longer they stand around in the middle of the corridor, the more chance there is of getting caught.

Zabuza catches the movement and grins at him tauntingly, shifting into a ready stance. Then something flickers over his face, half-hidden behind the bandages, and he pauses. His feet shift again, and Naruto is bewildered to see him settling back into a position that’s the exact _opposite_ of ready. Almost…nonthreatening, or at least as much as a man like Momochi Zabuza can _ever_ be nonthreatening.

“You're here for Orochimaru?” he asks, and flips Naruto's mask over in his hand, rubbing his thumb over a curl of orange.

Naruto frowns at him, rocking back a little on his heels, since apparently they're not fighting right now. “Not really,” he says, a little warily. “Technically it’s a retrieval mission. But you didn’t answer my question.”

For another long moment, Zabuza studies him carefully, then nods. “I'm on the same,” he says flatly. “Retrieval. Orochimaru stole one of my weapons and I'm here to get it back. That Terumi bitch gave me a choice between helping her and staying a Kiri shinobi, or leaving to find it and being marked a missing-nin.”

Naruto doesn’t have to ask which he chose, though given the way Kubikiribōchō is still strapped to Zabuza’s back, he can't imagine what weapon the Snake Sannin stole that could mean so much to the man. After all, Zabuza has spent the last five years at least earning money for the revolution through any means possible, and he’s considered to be the one who sparked it, assassinating Yagura and leaving the Mizukage’s seat open for Terumi Mei. He didn’t even take the positon for himself, which Naruto would think Terumi would show some gratitude for.

With a soft hum, he unfolds his arms and crouches down to retrieve his Hiraishin kunai, tucking it back into his belt and scanning the hall to make sure he didn’t drop any others. “Powerful weapon?” he asks, an idea slowly forming. There’s that old saying, right? ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’. While for shinobi that’s overstating things a bit, Naruto's fairly certain ‘the enemy of my enemy at least won't sever my spine while I can be useful to him’ applies pretty well here. After all, he and Zabuza are both alone, and Zabuza at least doesn’t have any backup he can call. Sticking together is just common sense, given the odds against them.

There's another pause, considering, and then Zabuza grunts. “…Unique,” he admits grudgingly. “Decently strong.”

Naruto nods, because ‘unique’ is generally all the reason Orochimaru needs to take something. “I'm working my way around to the main labs,” he says. “That’s where the most interesting of Orochimaru’s experiments are kept, so there's a good chance it’s there. It’d be easier if we joined forces.”

Zabuza nods, having clearly been leading in the same direction. “Got a plan, pretty boy?” he asks, very deliberately tucking Naruto's mask into his belt.

It takes effort not to go for his throat. With _teeth_ , if nothing else, because Naruto's not feeling that picky right now. _No one_ ever comments on his looks, and he’s not used to it. And while he knows his mother used to call his father the same, hearing it from Zabuza is just disturbing. He snarls at the man, reevaluating whether it would just be easier to do this alone and kill the missing-nin now, and takes a threatening step forward.

Because he’s a bastard, Zabuza just gives him a nasty grin from under his bandages, then turns his back on Naruto and starts down the hall. “Well, pretty boy?” he demands, clearly just trying to get a rise out of Naruto now.

But Naruto survived ANBU hazing at nine years old. This is minor league stuff, in comparison, and he’s more than able to retaliate.

Just because he can, Naruto focuses on the seal he laid on Zabuza’s arm.

_Touch—_

_step_ —

He catches Zabuza’s wrist, curved kunai poised five centimeters from his throat, and gives him his brightest, cheeriest smile. “Yeah,” he agrees, reaching out to tap his target seal. “I have a plan. We’re going to start a riot.”

Good humor returned by the pissed expression on Zabuza’s face, he moves ahead, flipping a kunai through his fingers. Behind him, there's a curse, a pause, and then an even more vicious oath as Zabuza realizes the seal won't wipe off like ink. When Naruto glances back, the Kiri nin is scrubbing desperately at his elbow, face contorted in a deadly scowl, and Naruto grins.

“Well, strongman?” he mocks, and laughs when Zabuza swears a blue streak.

 

 

Apparently Naruto was overestimating the Snake Sannin’s paranoia, at least within his own base. There aren’t two guards at each entrance, but one, and the pair who are supposed to be patrolling the cells are hunkered down somewhere near the center with a pack of cards. Naruto is almost disappointed, really, as he slips up behind them and takes them out before they can even notice him. Zabuza is waiting at the corner of one of the cells, eyes scanning the prisoners like he’s looking for someone, but before Naruto can ask, the swordsman chucks a set of keys at his face.

“Let’s get moving,” he says impatiently, and Naruto rolls his eyes but sets off to the far end of the cells. The prisoners don’t even bother asking why they're being let out; as soon as their doors are open, they're flooding the hall, surging back the way Naruto and Zabuza came with a deafening roar that speaks of revenge taking precedence over escape for most of them. Naruto winces, unable to even imagine what Orochimaru must have put the majority through, but gladly turns in the other direction and picks up his pace. Zabuza falls into step with him, dark eyes scanning the passage ahead as they run. Naruto isn’t sure if he’s making a mental map, but he hopes so, because he’s been counting turns and if he misses one, he’s going to get them hopelessly turned around. Orochimaru didn’t exactly make these halls for easy navigability.

“This way,” Naruto hisses, catching his partner’s elbow and pulling him into a side corridor he remembers from the map—a shortcut, hopefully, to help them avoid the Oto shinobi who will be arriving shortly. “Orochimaru’s lab should be up ahead.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zabuza huffs, then yanks Naruto back just before they reach the corridor’s mouth. He drags them back into the shadows just before a group of shinobi race past, then hesitates for another moment.

Naruto growls around the hand clamped over his mouth, _very_ unhappy at being manhandled, but stretches Kurama's senses out the way he should have done before. There's no one in their immediate vicinity, so he peels Zabuza’s hand off his face and says pointedly, “We’re clear. Come on.”

Zabuza arches a brow at that, but follows him down the hall, both of them more careful this time. They're far enough away from the commotion by the cells that stealth is important again, but he breaks it to ask quietly, “Sensor?”

With a shrug, Naruto drops into a crouch and peers around the next corner. “Something like that.” It’s not in his Bingo Book entry, but he doesn’t think Zabuza’s going to run around telling the whole world, especially when Naruto's helping him. The swordsman has his own distinctive form of honor, but it’s deeply rooted, as his involvement in Kiri's coup shows—not for power, but to overturn the old regime. Naruto's fairly sure he can trust at least that.

The dark-haired man just grunts, stepping past Naruto. Ahead of them, the hallway branches, and he slants a look at Naruto, who takes the left-hand path without hesitation, remembering the route he’d decided on. About halfway down, a door stands ajar, harsh fluorescent light spilling across the hall, and Naruto hears the murmur of voices. He pauses, eyes narrowing as he listens, and then freezes. One of the voices is deep, definitely a man, while in contrast the other is much lighter, falling somewhere between male and female, with an eerie, nearly sibilant cadence to it.

Breathing out carefully, Naruto waves Zabuza back along the wall, into the shadow of a doorway. Good news: they’ve found the main lab.

Bad news: they’ve also found Orochimaru.

Naruto had been hoping that Orochimaru would go deal with the freed prisoners personally, but from the sound of it, the jailbreak came in the middle of an important meeting. And from the tone of his voice, Orochimaru sounds almost…defensive. Not quite deferential, but definitely closer to it than the arrogance Naruto would have expected from Oto’s leader. With a flicker of curiosity, he creeps forward, trying to make out what they're saying.

“—know what more you want of me!” That’s definitely Orochimaru, on the edge of fury if the sound is anything to go by, but still not killing anyone. Naruto doesn’t know whether to take that as a good sign or a bad one. “I have followed your _rules_ , your _plan_. I have launched no outright attacks against Konoha, and I have provided you with all of my information regarding that man.”

“Everything?” the other man asks, amused and derisive in equal measure. “And yet you still call him a man. I have to wonder just how much you know, if that’s the case.”

A hiss, sharp and angry, but in contrast the next question is cuttingly sweet. “Were I to call him a _creature_ , would I not have to term you the same?”

There's a long pause, so cold Naruto can practically feel ice forming on the stone around him. “Watch your tongue, Snake,” the man finally says. “I’d be more than willing to cut it out, and see just how good you are at jutsus without speaking. But if you’ve nothing more for me, I'm heading to Ame. I want to know what Yahiko thinks he’s doing, mobilizing his shinobi already.”

“Obviously he’s preparing,” Orochimaru says blandly. “You have told us yourself that the creature is readying himself to move. Do you expect us to be caught unawares, as the rest of the villages will be?”

“I _expect_ you to keep a low profile and not draw attention. If he finds out what we’re preparing—”

“What _you_ are preparing, little god,” Orochimaru mocks. “We are but your pawns in this, and should you fail I would not have us blamed.”

“Should I fail, Orochimaru, pointing fingers is going to be the least of your worries.”

Well, that’s not ominous at all.

There's a sudden rush of footsteps from behind them, but before Naruto can react, there's a hand on him again, yanking him back into a doorway and then through the door and into a dusty storage room, shutting it behind them just before whoever’s coming rounds the corner. Naruto kicks Zabuza hard in the shin, just to be petty, and takes great pleasure in the way his features twitch with rage as he lets go. Giving him a wide, cheerful smile, he turns back to the door and presses his ear to it. Faintly, he hears Orochimaru snarl, then more hurried steps, and then silence. He gives it a slow count of thirty before he opens the door and slips out into the empty hallway, alert for any sounds. There are none, though, and he beckons Zabuza to follow as he ghosts along the wall, heading for the gaping door of the laboratory.

There's no movement from within, and no emotions that Naruto can sense, so he takes a breath and peeks around the doorway. Empty.

But Naruto is absolutely certain he only heard two sets of footsteps passing their hiding spot—Orochimaru and the shinobi who came to fetch him. That’s…not comforting.

Before he can mention it, though, Zabuza pushes past him, striding into the lab without hesitation, and Naruto just wants to throw his hands up. Or clobber the other man with his own oversized sword. For an expert at silent killing, he seems to have a funny understanding of _sneaking_.

But Zabuza has no eyes for anything but one of the tables on the far side, hooked up to monitors and devices Naruto doesn’t recognize. There's a body on the table, still and pale, a figure with long black hair and a heart-shaped face—young, probably only fifteen or so, and so pretty it takes a long moment and noticing an Adam’s apple for Naruto to realize he’s a boy. Zabuza crosses the room in long strides and immediately starts undoing the straps holding him to the table, and Naruto doesn’t hesitate to join him, even though the body he came for is in plain sight and Orochimaru could return any moment.

“A weapon, huh?” he asks dryly, pulling out IV lines and switching off monitors.

Zabuza just grunts, apparently not willing to argue one way or the other. He slaps the boy’s face gently in an attempt to wake him, but the teenager doesn’t stir.

“I'm pretty sure this is a sedative,” Naruto offers, holding up the line he just removed. “If the Snake’s got him on a drip, his system should clear it pretty quickly. I wouldn’t worry.”

The look Zabuza shoots him is scathing. “It’ll be harder getting out of here if we have to carry him,” he snaps, and Naruto rolls his eyes.

“You're adorably defensive,” he tells the swordsman cheekily. “But isn’t he a little young for you?” A kunai flashes at his throat, and he bounces back just in time, feeling the rush of air as it passes a centimeter from his skin.

“It,” Zabuza says very deliberately, “is not like that. I picked him up when he was just a brat.”

 _Ah,_ Naruto thinks, watching the way Zabuza’s eyes narrow dangerously. But he nods agreeably, taking a step around the bed. “I can get us out of here,” he offers. “Without having to go back through the tunnels, I mean. It’s—”

A flash of color catches his eye, and he spins towards the door. There's a flicker of movement, too fast for even him to follow, and before Naruto can make any sort of move whoever was watching them is gone. All Naruto is left with is the impression of a mask, purple-white, with a pattern carved into it. He bolts for the doorway, already knowing he’s too late, and ducks out into the hall.

Nothing. It’s empty.

He curses under his breath, returning to the lab with quick steps. “Time to go,” he bites out. “Whoever Orochimaru was talking to, I think he just saw us.”

Zabuza gives him a wary glance, but doesn’t argue, pulling his apprentice up in his arms. If they do have to fight their way out, that’s going to be a problem, Naruto knows, and grimaces even as he pulls a sealing scroll out of his pouch. He unrolls it, approaching the metal table closest to the door, and bites back a wince at the sight of Uchiha Isamu’s body laid out for dissection. A quick check shows that he at least still has his eyes, but Naruto isn’t inclined to feel grateful to the Sannin for small mercies. He knew Isamu, at least distantly, and remembers cheering him on more than once as he tried to drink Genma under the table. To have been killed just for his eyes, his bloodline, to be treated like some science experiment—

It generally takes a lot to make Naruto truly angry, but right now he’s tempted to go hunt down a Snake and show him why it’s a bad idea to kill Konoha shinobi.

Taking a deep breath to get himself under control, Naruto unrolls the scroll and lays it out over the body, then makes a quick hand-seal. With a puff of smoke, the body vanishes, and the scroll rolls itself back up in a rush. Naruto catches it, then tucks it safely away and turns to find Zabuza watching him.

“Ready?” he asks, and Zabuza nods grimly.

“I'm sick of being underground,” he growls. “Get me somewhere with room for me to swing my sword and I’ll _show_ Orochimaru why it’s a bad idea to steal other people’s tools.”

Apparently their minds are running along similar lines. Even so, Naruto regretfully shakes his head. “We should—”

“Orochimaru-sama! They're over here!”

With a curse, Naruto wrenches around to find a girl with red-pink hair lifting a flute to her lips. He lunges, the world blurring with speed, and snatches it right out of her hands. She falls back, grabbing for a weapon, but Naruto follows, ducks low, slides past her, and comes up with a hard blow to the back of her neck. She goes down, and Naruto doesn’t bother trying to catch her as she falls. There's another man in the hallway, big and broad, and Naruto has to dive to the side to avoid his grab. Still, he’s nowhere near Naruto's speed, and a roundhouse kick to the side makes him stagger.

There are more Oto shinobi coming, though, a group from each end of the hall, and Naruto grits his teeth. This is going to be close.

“Zabuza!” he shouts. “Come on!”

A hand-seal, a murmured, “Fuuton: Great Breakthrough,” and wind shrieks down the narrow passage to his left, hurling the oncoming shinobi back. Naruto ducks the big guy’s next blow, which leaves a crater in the wall behind him, then darts forward. There's a seal on his opponent’s neck, unfortunately familiar, and Naruto knows that he can't risk this fight dragging on. Not if this is one of the Sound Five. He leaps high, landing lightly on the ridiculously broad shoulders, and grabs for his chakra.

The Cursed Seal is already darkening, spreading, and Naruto doesn’t waste time with delicacy. He slams his power into it, chakra barely clinging to the necessary shape, and feels the counter-seal form even as he leaps high to avoid the man’s grabbing hands. Like Kidomaru, there's barely a moment’s pause before it works, sending the big man crashing down. Naruto lands lightly, already moving towards the four Oto shinobi coming from the other direction, and he dives between them and comes up fighting. They're decent, but unused to working as a team, and Naruto takes ruthless advantage, sliding around them as they get in each other’s way, dodging between them so they hit each other, and fouling their feet as they try to seize him. In moments, he takes out the last one and rises to his feet, shaking his hair out of his face.

“You really are a cricket, aren’t you?” Zabuza asks, clearly amused, and Naruto rolls his eyes.

“You're a vast amount of help,” he informs the swordsman witheringly, stepping over bodies to get back to his side. “As much as I’d like to find Orochimaru and gut him, I think we’re better off disappearing. Any reason you're not allowed in Hot Springs Country?”

“What?” Zabuza’s brow furrows. “Not that I'm aware of.”

“Awesome. One of my teammates got himself banned for life, so I always try to check.” He takes hold of Zabuza’s shoulder, then reconsiders and winds an arm through the man’s so he can rest his fingers against the apprentice’s skin as well. Best to be safe, jumping the distance they're going to have to cover.

“Generally people at least buy me dinner first, pretty boy,” Zabuza points out, dry but edged with dark amusement, as Naruto presses up against his side.

“Ha, ha,” Naruto mutters, closing his eyes. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t jump you unless there was money and a dark alley involved.” He’ll need…three seals, if he pushes it. Four, if he doesn’t, but he wants to get as far away from this hole in the ground as is physically possible, and do it quickly. So, three. And…

He reaches, feeling every seal like a spark, and touches each one in his planned path. Just a light brush, tingling with chakra and intent, but it sets them to glowing. A breath, a murmured word to trigger the explosive seals left on the columns, and then—

 _Touch_ —

And step—

And _leap_ —

And land, the echo of an explosion ringing in his ears. He staggers, head spinning with sudden disorientation, and feels a hand close around his bicep, tugging him upright and back against something solid.

“Knew you were a pretty boy, but I didn’t think I could actually make you swoon, kid.” Zabuza sounds amused again, and it takes a lot more concentration than it should to actually flip him off. He manages to pry his eyes open, and sighs in relief at the sight of a familiar hill, a small town spread out below them. If he’s remembering correctly—and he’s fairly certain he is; what happened here was pretty much unforgettable, thanks to Shisui—there's even a decent inn.

“We’re in the southeast of Hot Springs Country,” he informs Zabuza grouchily, pulling away now that his head is clear. “About an hour from the border with Konoha. Thank you for your _massive_ amount of assistance, Momochi, but you can do whatever the hell you want now. _I_ am going to go find the biggest, comfiest bed in the inn and sleep.” 

Admittedly, he’s curious about the other man, about the boy for whom Zabuza threw away his position in the revolution, but if Zabuza calls him ‘pretty boy’ one more time Naruto is going to introduce the swordsman’s thick skull to something very hard. And besides, sleep sounds like an amazing idea right now.

With a halfhearted wave, he steps away and heads down the hill, calling up a henge as he goes. It settles over him like a second skin made of chakra, lightening black hair to brown and shifting features ever so slightly, and reminds Naruto of the mask still tucked into Zabuza’s belt. He scowls with annoyance and—

“Room’s on me,” Zabuza says gruffly, clapping Naruto on the back as he shifts the boy he’s carrying a little higher on his shoulder. “Might possibly have been a bit more difficult to get out if you weren’t there, and I doubt Terumi’s had the time to dispatch hunter-nin after me yet. I think I can afford a room.”

“ _Possibly_?” Naruto splutters, deeply offended. “You _asshole_ , I’d like to see you do even half as well on your own! I was the one with the plan, the map, and the way out!”

Zabuza smirks at him, clear even under the bandages. “I’d forgotten just how prissy Konoha nin were. What do you want, a letter of commendation? We were both there to retrieve weapons. We did it and got out. Don’t romanticize it, kid.”

Automatically, Naruto touches the pouch that holds the sealing scroll with Isamu’s body, feeling the outline of it. His expression tightens, and he has to take a breath to control the mixed surge of anger and grief and _hate_ that rises. At heart, Naruto is an incredibly selfish person. Some shinobi are able to justify what they are by saying “for the good of the world” or “because I'm doing it someone else won't have to”, and maybe it’s true. But it’s not enough for Naruto. He has those precious to him, and in the end, they're what he fights for. They're his reason, and for them, he’d bloody his hands. He’d kill and die and suffer to keep them safe, to keep them happy. But…

ANBU teaches you to set aside your emotions and step back. It’s a rule, even—number twenty-five, if Naruto remembers correctly. _No matter what, a shinobi must contain their emotions. You must make the mission your top priority, and possess a heart that never shows tears._ For all that he’s grateful to ANBU for giving him a team he loves like the family he lost, he also hates it. ANBU is made to turn humans into weapons, to pare away the humanity until only the shinobi is left, and Naruto has spent twelve years alternately trying to fight or forget that.

He won't go so far as to say that he’s escaped becoming a tool entirely, but—

But he’s more than that. All shinobi are, no matter what they think of their situation.

“That’s a lot of trouble to go to for a weapon,” he says, deceptively mild. “Even if it’s a powerful one. Your chances of getting out of that base without me were slim at best. You're good, Zabuza, but against Orochimaru and all of his best creations? That’s a sucker bet, sorry.”

The hand Naruto can see clenches into a fist, and a spike of angry chakra makes his head throb briefly. “Shut up, Fox,” the swordsman growls. “Shinobi are tools. Every last one of us exists to be used, and to use others. That’s the way our world is. If you can't accept that, you're not fit to call yourself a ninja.”

Naruto stops in the middle of the road, trying to get his anger under control. Because this—it’s everything he’s been fighting for the last decade. “Terumi Mei,” he bites out as Zabuza turns towards him warily, “is not an idiot. If she refused to let you go after that kid, it’s because she considered it a suicide mission. But you went anyway. Kiri is just _weeks_ away from a new leader, a new leader _you_ helped bring to power, and you abandoned that in favor of a rescue mission with only the barest possibility of success. Tell me, Zabuza, would _anyone_ do that for a weapon they didn’t need to keep fighting? Don’t give me that ‘tool’ bullshit. Yeah, we’re tools, but we’re also _human_ , and rescuing that kid was probably the closest to fully human you’ve been in a long time.” He smacks a fist against Zabuza’s chest, frustrated and furious without any real direction for it, and then turns on his heel and keeps heading for the town.

There's a long moment of silence before Zabuza snorts and falls into step with him again. His shoulders are tense, but there's a trace of resigned humor in his eyes. “You Konoha nin are all pansies. Are the speeches a village-wide thing, or just yours?”

For a minute Naruto tries to cling to his anger and offense, but he’s never been good at holding grudges, even when it would probably be better to do so. He just huffs and retorts, “I wouldn’t expect someone from the _Bloody Mist_ to understand anything about friendship or supporting your comrades, so don’t break your brain thinking about it.”

Zabuza just shrugs. “I fight for my ideals,” he says bluntly. “That’s all I need. And someday soon, Kiri won't be the Bloody Mist anymore. Then we can start learning.”

Naruto really, really doesn’t want to like Momochi Zabuza. He’s one of Kiri's most vicious, with a blood-soaked history and enough pride to choke on. He speaks of beliefs that are exactly opposite Naruto's, even as he himself goes against them, and for all that Kiri is in the middle of a civil war they're still Konoha's enemies.

But then again, Naruto's never been particularly smart when it comes to other people, and trusting those he shouldn’t. And there's something in Zabuza, in the way he risked everything to rescue a boy he insists in just a weapon, that Naruto can't force himself to overlook.

Resigned, Naruto chuckles and crosses his arms behind his head, steps steady as they descend into the town. “I think you're off to a pretty good start,” he allows. “Stupidly risky missions in the name of attachment sounds _exactly_ like something a Konoha shinobi would do.”

From the sideways glance Zabuza slants him, he can't tell whether that’s a compliment or not. Naruto beams back, perfectly innocent, and lets him wonder.


	6. eight of cups, diminished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for missing updates, but between conferences and family drama, RL has been disgustingly hectic, and it doesn’t look to be getting better until at least September. I’ll try to keep updating regularly, but I can't promise much, unfortunately. (Obviously, please ignore my prediction of this being 20k words, because I'm ridiculous and apparently misplaced my ability to be concise somewhere in the middle of backslide. orz)
> 
> To everyone who’s taken the time to comment, I love you and I'm very, very thankful. You're amazing, and the reason pitiful writers like me keep at it even when they're slammed. Just…have my heart. All of it. _ALL_.

_[The Eight of Cups card, reversed: A search for pleasure, either physical or mental; a quest for joy, happiness, and success; a new love interest; choosing one’s future path._

_The Suite of Cups usually predicts love, happiness, fertility, friendship, and beauty.]_

 

Naruto feels about ninety-eight percent human again when he emerges from the inn’s bathhouse in a cloud of steam, still toweling his hair dry. He’s practically scrubbed his top layer of skin off, but the lingering creepiness of Orochimaru’s lab all but demanded it, and Naruto already knows that still, pale bodies under the harsh glare of fluorescent lights and the stomach-turning reek of antiseptic over old blood are going to be featuring heavily in his future nightmares.

**_Only ninety-eight percent? You're a riot, brat. Don’t quit your day job._ **

Naruto laughs softly, knowing Kurama will sense it. “I think you’ve said that before,” he reminds the fox. “But _Shisui_ thinks I'm funny.”

All that gets him is a low, sharp growl, entirely unimpressed. **_If an Uchiha thinks you're funny, kid, you're doomed._** A pause, and then Kurama resettles within him, huffing out a short, aggravated breath. **_Watch yourself around that sharp-toothed bastard, brat. I don’t trust him._**

“Neither do I,” Naruto agrees easily. “And he doesn’t trust us, either. Don’t stress, fuzzball. You’ll go bald, and then Matatabi will laugh at you.”

Kurama snorts, all but dripping derision. **_Cats have a very twisted sense of humor that only appeals to them_** , he says loftily.

“And the fact that you were both giggling over Gyuki tripping into a river means…?”

The fox doesn’t answer, and Naruto blinks back to reality, registering that he’s nearly at the door of the room. He sends Kurama a jab of _I had the last word, so there_ feelings and the bijuu snarls grumpily in return, subsiding completely in a way that means Naruto will be hard-pressed to rouse him until he’s over his snit. Shaking his head with a soft chuckle, Naruto slides the door open and then just…stops.

He’s not being particularly quiet, but neither of the room’s inhabitants have noticed him yet. The boy they rescued is sitting up on his futon, hands clasped together and eyes downcast, looking a little pale but otherwise none the worse for wear. At his side, Zabuza looks grim, bandages hanging free around his neck as he studies the boy, arms crossed over his chest. It’s only when Naruto looks closely that he can see the faint lines of worry around his eyes, the small tells that say this is the same man who carried his apprentice all the way from Sound and wouldn’t put him down until he was absolutely certain it was safe.

“—very sorry, Zabuza-san. They came out of nowhere, and they had seals on their necks that increased their strength. I tried to fight, but I was too weak. But I swear, I didn’t tell them anything, not a word!”

There's a long moment of silence before Zabuza huffs out a sigh, leaning back a little and running a hand through his spiky hair. “I was never worried about that, Haku,” he says bluntly. “And it doesn’t matter now anyway. Terumi booted me out. We’re gonna have to find some other source of income.”

Naruto can see the exact moment Haku makes the connection. Dark eyes blink in confusion, then go wide with horrified comprehension, and the boy reaches for his master. “Zabuza-san, you can't mean—!”

“So what if I do?” Zabuza says evenly, raising one brow. “Kiri is just a village. We can find a new one, or just wander. It won't make a difference in the long run.”

If he’s ever heard a more blatant lie, Naruto can't recall it. Haku doesn’t seem to buy it, either, if the expression of heartbreak on his face is anything to go by. “Sorry,” he whispers, lowering his head until the curtain of his dark hair hides his face. “This is my fault. I'm so sorry for what I've caused, Zabuza-san.”

Another lingering moment of silence, and then Zabuza sighs. He reaches out, dropping one big hand on top of Haku's head, and says almost gently, “This isn’t on you, Haku. It’s on the Snake bastard, and that Terumi bitch, and even myself, but not you. I could have let him have you, but I didn’t. I made my choice, so don’t take that upon yourself, got it?”

Haku nods without lifting his head, his shoulders shaking slightly, and Naruto looks between him and Zabuza and then slips away, careful to keep his footsteps soundless. Some things really don’t need an audience.

In the absence of anywhere else to go, Naruto retreats to one of the hot springs that the country was named for. The pool is empty right now, steaming faintly in the cool night air, and Naruto takes a seat on one of the wide, flat stones bordering the water. There's a faint breeze, and Naruto breathes in the scent of night-blooming jasmine and growing things and lets himself drift.

He wonders, just a little—because he can't help himself—whether someone would do for him what Zabuza did for Haku. Would any of his friends abandon Konoha for him? Would they give up everything they know, all of their dreams, to save him? Naruto is optimistic enough to want to say yes, but…Itachi loves Konoha. He was prepared to murder his entire clan to keep it stable. Shisui too, for all that he acts the cheerful fool, is utterly devoted to the village, and Naruto can't see either of them throwing that away. Not even for friendship. Genma might, but he has Raidou. Tenzō would, possibly, but…

But Naruto would never ask that of them. He shakes his head and scrubs a hand over his face, shoving his damp hair back behind his ears. This is all just…theoretical. He’s still shaken from Orochimaru’s lab, from seeing Isamu laid out like an experiment in a bright, cold room. He doesn’t actually doubt his friends, and he would never let himself get captured regardless. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

Tearing his thoughts away from what he’s firmly labeling a bout of self-pity, Naruto instead focuses on what happened in Oto. The idea that Orochimaru is collaborating with someone who throws around the names of village leaders so casually is a little worrying; Yahiko of Ame is strong, and his people utterly devoted to him. If he’s being manipulated as well, or if he’s in on something involving Orochimaru—

Well. It’s likely it won't end well for anyone involved.

But the masked man implied that there was something _worse_ than him, that Orochimaru and Yahiko had both been warned about it and were readying their forces. Why only those two? Or are there more? How many villages are in on this, and _what is it_?

 ** _Easy, kit,_** Kurama rumbles soothingly in his mind. **_You're just going to give yourself a headache obsessing over it._**

 _It’s not like I can just_ stop _worrying_ , Naruto shoots back, but he does sit back a little, allowing the tension in his shoulders to ease. When Kurama starts calling him ‘kit’ instead of ‘brat’, it means he’s serious. _This…this feels big, Kurama, and I don’t like it._

**_I never said you had to like it, kit, just don’t_ obsess _. That man…I haven’t felt that much malice coming off a human in a very long time._**

Naruto honestly hadn’t been paying attention; Kurama only has half of his chakra, and it means that his ability to sense negative emotions is a lot weaker than it would be otherwise. He’d been more focused on the situation and their escape, but if Kurama says the masked man’s malice was bad, he must have been _really_ bad. Kurama isn’t given to exaggeration.

Kurama sighs at him, sounding put-upon even though Naruto can pick out the thread of fondness beneath it. **_Enough, kit. Drop the henge and let yourself relax. Just…breathe for a bit._**

Obediently, Naruto lets his henge drop, and the hair whispering past his face shifts from brown to black. He closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing, and lets his senses expand without intent, for the moment content to simply listen. He’s not…dismissing his thoughts, not setting them aside. Instead he’s letting them sit for the moment, letting them stew until the pieces come together. And in the meantime, he focuses on relaxing one group of muscles at a time, letting them ease as he gets rid of his tension. Normally, Naruto isn’t one to sit still, or spend any time in contemplation when he could be training, could be moving, but ANBU is a high-stress job to say the least. If he hadn’t learned this trick, he would have burned out in the first year.

In the wake of his sudden, forced calm, he thinks of his parents. Not of the names carved into stone, or the graves they left. Not death and destruction at the hands of someone once precious to them, but…earlier. Better memories, happier—the smell of his mother’s red bean soup, the way his father would sneak spoonfuls out of the pot and then yelp and curse when he burned his mouth. His father’s seals, precise and elegant, where his mother’s were carefree and effortlessly improvised. The house he can no longer live in, warm and welcoming with their presences, no longer how long it’s been since their deaths.

 _Peace_ , Naruto thinks, and opens his eyes, emotions finally under control once more. He’s never going to be as steady as an Aburame, or even an Uchiha, but…this much he can manage. And if maybe clinging to the past isn’t the healthiest thing to do—well. He’s ANBU. Healthy isn’t really in the job description.

A door slides shut with a nearly inaudible thump, and Naruto waits. There are no footsteps to give the visitor away, no sounds of movement, but Naruto doesn’t expect them. Not from this man. His chakra gives more away, and even that is tightly contained, just a bare hint of abrasive sharpness leaking into the air.

“Did you want something?” he asks without looking up.

“Take this mark off my arm,” Zabuza answers, sharp and cold, and Naruto can practically feel him filing their temporary alliance away as something in the past. It irks him, though he can't quite say why, and he opens his eyes to give the Kiri nin a narrow look.

“Most people say ‘please’ when they want something,” he points out.

Zabuza stares right back at him, and there's anger in his eyes. Naruto is aware enough to know that it’s not all directed at him—most of it’s not, because Zabuza’s situation is probably only hitting home now, and that’s more than enough to inspire some fury. But Naruto is a convenient outlet, given that Terumi is all the way back in Water Country, and there's every possibility that this confrontation will end in a fight.

A slow breath, obviously a fight for control, and Zabuza growls, “I'm not asking.”

Naruto is actually quite aware that picking a fight with a recently banished, angry swordsman with nothing left to lose isn’t a great idea. He also knows that if Zabuza starts pushing buttons, he’s not going to be able to keep his temper. To top things off, he’s in no frame of mind to cater to Zabuza when he’s being rude, which is going to make this confrontation short indeed.

Slowly, carefully, Naruto rises to his feet, pushing his hair out of his eyes again, and faces Zabuza squarely, wishing there wasn’t quite so much of a height difference between them. It’s hard to look intimidating when he barely comes up to the man’s chin. “So you’re going to _make_ me?” he asks dryly, raising a brow.

Something ugly crosses Zabuza’s face, and he rests one hand on his weapons pouch. “Don’t think you’ll win a match between us, pretty boy,” he warns darkly. “I've seen you fight, and that’s all the advantage I need. Even for a Konoha nin, you're weak.”

Okay, that’s the first button. Naruto clenches his hands into fists, and growls, “Just because you caught me once doesn’t mean you’ll manage it again, Zabuza. If you're really picking this fight, I'm not going to hold back. And I'm _not_ weak. If you want me to prove it by handing you your ass, that’s fine with me.”

A kunai slashes through the air. Expecting it, Naruto ducks low, catches Zabuza’s elbow as he withdraws, and then uses his grip as leverage and _leaps_. He flies straight over the swordsman’s head, flips carefully, and lands on his feet, balanced on the shifting stones.

“Not weak?” Zabuza echoes, turning to face him again. There's contempt, clear as day without the bandages to cover his face, but also something closer to relief. Fighting is something he knows, something he’s used to, and the fact that Naruto is letting him pick this one, is responding, actually sets him at ease. “Don’t lie to me, Fox. I saw you in the Snake’s base. You must have faced down two dozen men all together, and I noticed. You didn’t kill a single one of them.”

Naruto had been wondering if he saw that. Not that he _cares_ , because there's not a single damned chance in _hell_ of him changing his ways to be any more like Zabuza, but when people notice they tend to comment. Even his own ANBU teammates said something, before they adjusted to it.

“So what if I didn’t?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and meeting Zabuza’s eyes without hesitation. “They weren’t strong enough to justify killing.”

“You don’t need justification to kill the weak!” Zabuza snarls, lashing out again. “If they can't ensure their own survival, they might as well die! You're ANBU, Fox, so how can you pretend to think differently?”

Naruto bounces back three steps, out of range of the kunai’s curved blade, and glares. “Because I'm not a _monster_!” he spits back, and there, that’s ten or twelve buttons all pushed at once. He gets the feeling that the inn is existing entirely on borrowed time at the moment, and when he inevitably gets banned from Hot Springs Country it will be for a reason a lot less fun that Shisui's. “Yeah, I'm ANBU, but I have a _conscience_. I don’t kill just because it’s fun, or just because they're too weak to stop me! _I'm_ not the one leaving a trail of orphans and widows behind me on every mission!”

This time, Zabuza’s snarl is purely disgusted, with an undertone that’s full of scorn. “You Konoha nin are all the same, bleeding hearts and egos bigger than your village. You think you're all so high and mighty, don’t you? But you're all _just the same as us_.”

“Yes!” Naruto hisses. “We _are_ the same! That’s why I don’t kill indiscriminately. Even when we’re enemies, we’re all _human_ , and I refuse to believe otherwise! You can call me weak for that, Zabuza, but it’s the reason I'm not a mindless _tool_ the way you seem to think I should be! I can still see the difference between right and wrong, and clearly you can too, or that kid in there would be dead already!”

Mention of Haku pulls the swordsman up short, and he pauses, eyes narrowing. The kunai wavers, dips, and then Zabuza huffs and slides it away. “You keep using him as an argument,” he says, just above a growl. “Stop it, or I’ll carve that face up into lines, got it?”

“Fine,” Naruto returns, letting himself relax a little as Zabuza makes to push past him. He reaches out, fingertips just brushing the man’s elbow, and lets the Hiraishin marking shatter beneath his touch. When Zabuza pauses again, clearly surprised, Naruto studies him for a moment and asks, “Where will you go now?”

For the barest second, weariness crashes down on Zabuza’s features, drawing lines of worry and exhaustion across his face and pulling into a mask of unhappy indecision. “I'm not sure,” he says finally, running a hand through his hair. “We’ll probably head down the coast. People on the borders always need shinobi, but they're too far from the villages to hire them officially. Least that way we’ll be able to eat.”

It’s not fair, Naruto thinks, watching the man’s shoulders curve under the weight of the future. The life of a missing-nin is hardly easy, especially with hunter-nin dogging his steps. And maybe Zabuza betrayed Kiri, betrayed the woman who might as well be his Mizukage, but it was for the very best reason. To be banished for that, to be told that the home he fought so hard to free isn’t his anymore—

It aches, and Naruto aches for him.

Maybe that’s the reason for what he does next. Maybe it isn’t. It’s an impulse, and Naruto has never, ever been good at resisting those.

He catches Zabuza by the elbow and tugs, not hard enough to feel like an attack, but insistent enough to make him turn. The swordsman does, brow lifting in silent question, and Naruto rests a hand on a broad shoulder and asks, “If I kiss you, will you punch me?”

Surprise flickers through dark brown eyes, then morphs into humor. Zabuza laughs, rough and low, and one big hand finds Naruto's hip, pulling him a step closer. “If I said yes, would it really stop you?”

“Of course not,” Naruto answers, grinning back, “but I like to have a little warning for when to duck.”

Zabuza snorts, and he’s the one to close the distance between them. The first press of lips is tentative, questioning, but that’s not the way either of them are. Naruto huffs, incredulous and chiding, and presses back, opening his mouth and fisting his hands in short black hair. He kisses Zabuza hard, presses himself up against him and when Zabuza finally gives in, it’s everything he thought it would be. It’s a fight and a competition and two entirely different people trying to fit themselves together, and for the first time in _years_ Naruto feels pure want coiling in his stomach.

Zabuza pulls back a little, filed teeth scraping over Naruto's lower lip, and studies him carefully. “You sure I'm your type?” he asks, and Naruto can hear what he’s actually asking hidden behind the flippancy. _Is this pity? Do you really want this, even though it’s dangerous? We were just fighting, is this really a logical step forward to you?_

And Naruto has to laugh then, because honestly? No, this isn’t logical at all, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone accused him of being irrational, and he’s absolutely certain it won't be the last, either. “My type?” he asks, equal parts cheeky and amused. “You mean rude, blunt, arrogant, and ugly? Yeah, you're _definitely_ my type, don’t worry.”

Zabuza snorts, yanking at a lock of long hair where it spills over his hands. “I'm not ugly,” he denies, leaning in again, and this time it’s fierce, a kiss like a wildfire that threatens to burn all of Naruto's higher brain function to ash without remorse. He kisses back, pushes himself up and traces teeth, bites at lips, lets the heat of it curl through him and leave him just as breathless as the slide of mouths.

“No mention of the other categories?” he asks, slightly winded, when they separate again.

The grin he gets is full of sharp teeth, a threat and a promise all in one. “Three out of four isn’t such a bad thing, right?” He nudges Naruto back, off the path and through the decorative border of shrubs, right up against the wall. Naruto lets himself be pinned, lets Zabuza wrap one long lock of black hair around his fist, because it’s not pity making him do this. It’s nothing like that, not in the least, because Zabuza is too proud for him to pity. He’s utterly unapologetic about his manner, his beliefs, his actions, and it’s been a very long time since Naruto met someone who was so much like himself, but so different at the same time. It’s _fascinating,_ even when Naruto knows it shouldn’t be, that they're enemies or at least not friends, but—

But he _wants_ , and he can barely remember the last time he felt like that.

He hooks a hand around Zabuza’s nape, gently scraping his fingernails over the man’s scalp, and leans up to feather another kiss over his lips, this time light and teasing. Zabuza growls low in his throat, fingers gripping tighter at his hip, and catches his mouth again, sharp and intent. His other hand slides up Naruto's arm, pushing the sleeve of his yukata up to get at skin, and Naruto returns the favor, finding the hem of his shirt and slipping his fingers underneath to ghost over smooth, hot flesh. A break to breathe, just a brief moment of retreat and Naruto leans in again, pressing his mouth to the sharp angle of Zabuza’s jaw and nipping gently.

The hand on his arm slides around to his neck, dragging at the collar of his robe, and Zabuza warns quietly, “I'm not one of those pansy-ass Konoha men. This is one night, and then we go our separate ways. You get attached and I’ll gut you, got it?”

Naruto would take him a hell of a lot more seriously if the press of his fingers wasn’t the next best thing to desperate, if he wasn’t leaning in to Naruto as though he never wants to pull away. Because of that, he just rolls his eyes and makes a noise of vague agreement, a plan already piecing itself together in the back of his mind.

“You seem to be doing a stupid amount of talking for me being about to put my hand down your pants. You sure I'm _your_ type?” he returns impertinently, letting his teeth scrape lightly over a tendon in Zabuza’s neck and delighting in the shiver it earns him.

“Pretty, bossy, rude, and violent, with a terrible sense of humor—did I miss anything?” Sharp teeth nip his ear, then drop to his throat, and Naruto has to strangle a gasp.

“I’ll have you know that my teammates think I'm quite funny, thank you.” Naruto feels his yukata slip from his shoulders to hang off his elbows, and hands trace over his chest and make him shiver, too. “And if you make even one comment about better things for my mouth to be doing, I’ll drown you the hot spring.”

Zabuza makes a noise that is entirely unimpressed. “You know, Haku went out to scout the town and find some food. Room’s empty.”

“So forward,” Naruto taunts, but lets the swordsman pull away and tugs his yukata back into place. “You're lucky I'm not as delicate as you keep implying I am, or I might have fainted just then.”

That earns him another rough laugh as Zabuza pauses in the doorway. “But then you’d miss the best part, pretty boy,” he says with a flash of sharp teeth like a shark’s hungry grin.

Naruto snorts softly, even as he follows. “Is that a promise?”

As soon as he’s close enough, Zabuza reaches out, picking up a lock of black hair and twisting it around his fingers. “Why don’t you find out?” he asks, low and intent, and the heat in his eyes is promise enough. Naruto grabs his arm, focuses on the Hiraishin kunai in his weapons pouch, and—

the world _twists_ —

 _shifts_ —

Naruto barely takes half a second to find his balance before he kicks Zabuza’s feet out from under him and topples them both onto the nearest futon.

 

 

There's a full moon setting above Konoha. Itachi eyes the bloated curve as it breaks through the treetops, more unnerved than he should be by such a simple thing. The forest looms in the eerie light, though, heavy and dark even beneath the light of false dawn, and it takes more effort than he expects to force himself to step beneath the overhanging boughs.

He wonders self-depreciating, a little wryly, if this would be his path is Fox were in the village. Would he pick this path when the other choices were so much clearer? If he could give the responsibility of his actions to someone else, would he?

But then, the best thing about Fox is that he wouldn’t _let_ Itachi make another choice. There would only be one path forward, if he were here, and Itachi can't tell if it would be for the better or the worse.

Ten steps in, past the dappling of pale light that fades as the forest thickens, and there's a flicker of color out of place amid the gloom.

“My honorable ancestor,” Itachi says evenly, and doesn’t mean a word of it.

That orange mask shifts to look at him, the single eye-hole studying him with a faint tip of the cloaked head. He is as Itachi remembers him from the last time, covered from crown to ankle so that no skin shows.

“My genius descendant,” Madara returns politely, his voice a deep rasp in the darkness. “Thank you for coming to meet me. I know you have been otherwise occupied with your brother’s recent graduation.”

It’s a threat, even if it doesn’t sound like one. Madara is well aware that Sasuke is Itachi's single greatest weakness, and almost used him once already to bring the Uchiha to ruin. If Fox hadn’t—

But Fox isn’t here now, and it’s Itachi's judgement that the path before them rests upon.

He waits, because the balance of power here clearly lies in Madara's favor, and Itachi will let it rest there until he has no other choice. Madara knows it, too, because when he speaks, there's a note of triumph in his voice that makes Itachi's skin crawl.

“I require something, Itachi, and I would have you procure it for me. Are we agreed?”

Itachi takes a careful breath. Whatever it is, he’s absolutely certain it will not be benign, will not end without harm to Konoha. “Tell me what item it is first.”

Madara goes eerily still, a reminder that this man is not to be underestimated, that Itachi with all his much-lauded genius still isn’t enough to concern him. “Are you questioning me, my descendant? I hope you remember what it could cost you, and what I was willing to grant you last time.”

Sasuke's safety. Sasuke's continued life, weighed against the lives of every Uchiha in the compound. Itachi's next breath shakes, rattles in his lungs like an oncoming cough, but he fights the weakness down and meets that mask’s blank stare as squarely as he can. “Konoha is at peace,” he says quietly. “Danzo is dead, and the Uchiha are no longer suspected of bringing the Kyuubi down upon us. There are no wars looming. What I agreed to do last time was for the good of Konoha as a whole, and not just for my brother. Whatever you will ask of me now, I doubt you have the village’s best interests at heart. So tell me, or I will refuse outright.”

The silence lingers like a threat, subtle but pointed. There is killing intent in the air, just a faint current, but it’s enough to raise the hairs on Itachi's arms and send a shiver of foreboding down his spine.

Then Madara moves, shifting faintly. One hand rises to touch his mask, but he doesn’t remove it. “Eyes,” he says blandly, as though asking for a glass of water. “I need the eyes of at least ten powerful Uchiha, and I need them soon. If you do this, I will guarantee your brother’s safety in the…coming troubles. Is that not fair, my descendant?”

The horror is a creeping, monstrous thing, rising up within him. Itachi takes a step back, because he knows what Madara is asking. Ten Uchiha, and the most powerful—that will be the elders, his own family, _Shisui_ —

Maybe once, Itachi could have killed them. Maybe once he was prepared to, but—

From behind him, near the main gates, comes a flare of yellow light. Madara's head twitches in that direction, just faintly, but it’s all the opening Itachi needs. He casts a genjutsu, lets the trees around Madara come alive, and then spins on his heel and runs, fleeing deeper into the forest. Something scuffs ahead of him, a foot placed wrong, and automatically his hand finds a kunai, draws and throws even as he dives to the side. Roots surge up from the ground, reaching and grasping, and Itachi curses, ducking back. If it’s an illusion he can't tell, and that means he can't break it.

Another faint sound, a heavy breath, and Itachi throws himself back just as a tree explodes with a deafening sound, sending chips of wood clattering down around him. Pain flares in his side, sudden as a stab wound, but ignorable. He leaps to the side, another kunai coming to his hand, but the weight is off, irregular. He fumbles with it, almost losing his grip, and when he finally manages to throw it, it misses, thudding into a trunk a good meter to Madara's left as the missing-nin advances.

“A simple request, Itachi,” he says almost chidingly. “Soon this world will be lost to war, and this is your one chance to see your brother spared. Perhaps you do not love little Sasuke enough. Is that it? Would you not make such a sacrifice for him? How pitiful, that he loves his brother so much and yet—”

A flash of yellow light, a blur of black hair and grey uniform and colorful mask, and Madara spins just in time to catch the blade of a tantō on his kunai.

“Yo, Itachi,” Fox says cheerfully, and his back is to Itachi but Itachi knows without a doubt that the brightness in his voice comes nowhere near his eyes. “You should be careful throwing my kunai around. I might think you need me to save you or something.”

Itachi spares that last kunai a brief glance, and it is indeed one of Fox’s three-pronged Hiraishin kunai planted in the tree. No wonder it felt unbalanced in his hand. He straightens slowly, pressing one hand to his side where blood is dampening his shirt, and calls up his chakra, letting it pool in his free hand as fire.

“You might be right, Fox,” he answers evenly. “Just this once. Madara, in case I did not make myself clear: I refuse.”

But Madara isn’t paying attention to him anymore. His gaze is fixed on Fox, heavy with furious intent. “You again,” he says flatly. “Was your interference last time not _enough_?”

The earth erupts around them, reaching roots and grasping branches and stabbing tendrils. Fox leaps high, flipping over in midair, and he catches Itachi's reaching arm and pulls him along with a flare of chakra. Above the treetops, Fox closes his eyes, and the world ripples, folds, and spits them out right in front of the main gate.

Still tangled in Fox’s grasp, Itachi turns his head to watch dust bloom as trees shake and fall, a thorny nest of vines and branches reaching skyward before the growth suddenly stops.

“We should—” he starts, but Fox immediately shakes his head.

“No,” he says firmly. “That bastard vanished the minute he triggered that attack, and I doubt he was careless enough to leave any clues behind as to where he went.” Taking a step back, he slides his tantō away and runs a hand over his hair, tugging out leaves and stray splinters he wasn’t quite fast enough to dodge. He sighs, and then says a little resignedly, “Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like whatever answers you're going to give me here, ‘Tachi?”

Wincing a little, because Madara's continued existence was one secret he was prepared to take to the grave, Itachi turns to check him for injuries, and it’s only then that he registers just what Fox is wearing. The usual orange-streaked mask is gone, and he isn’t even wearing the blank white one he uses when he’s playing a regular jounin. Instead, it’s a garishly painted festival mask with a tengu’s prominent nose, and across the forehead someone has added a neat row of kanji reading ‘To keep you from being so pretty. No need to thank me.’

Itachi blinks at it, but the lettering doesn’t change.

“Stop staring, bastard,” Fox huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. The image he makes forces Itachi to press a hand over his mouth to smother an actual laugh. “Oi! Just because some asshole stole my mask does _not_ mean you can laugh at me, jerk!”

Despite the tension, despite Madara's words, despite the clear threat he represents—

Itachi gives in and laughs, open and free, feeling something within him ease and settle back into place.

He doesn’t need Fox’s presence to help him pick the right path, but…they're friends. They're best friends, and that’s reason enough to want him near.


	7. the chariot, exalted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally swamped by RL still, but there's a light at the end of the tunnel! (Fingers crossed that it’s not just the train, ha.) Take this chapter as a good sign, and thank you so much to those of you who have been far more patient with me than I deserve. *heart*
> 
> That chapter count is tots tentative, in case you hadn't realized yet that I cant plan plots to save my life.

_[The Chariot card, upright: Perseverance, a journey, a rushed decision, finding strength in the face of adversity, turmoil both within and without, or vengeance._

_The Major Arcana (also called the trump cards) represent major, lasting changes and influences on the subject or the natural world surrounding them.]_

 

Three months now and he still hasn’t tossed the damn thing in the trash where it belongs.

Almost compulsively, Zabuza traces his thumb over a streak of orange where it curls into a fox’s wicked grin. It’s a sentiment, a weakness, one he should easily be able to discard. He’s the Demon of the Hidden Mist, the most bloodthirsty bastard in a village full of them, and never one to let emotions of any kind weigh him down.

Or at least, that’s how he’d like to see himself.

However, Zabuza is self-aware enough to realize that isn’t even close to the truth. He’s vicious, yes, and ruthless, but there's no thirst for blood in him that goes beyond what's normal for a shinobi. There are very, very few times he’s killed that he’s actually relished it. Yagura is one, for what he was turning Kiri into. Even the graduation exam was more a point made, a bloody _fuck you_ to the Mizukage and the system as a whole, than it was a bloodbath simply for the sake of killing.

He might call himself a tool, but he’s not a good one. Maybe once, before he met Haku, he could have reshaped himself into a real weapon, meant for the hand of whoever took the Mizukage’s seat. Maybe once before Haku disappeared into the night he could have pretended that he was nothing but a blade meant to strike on command.

But then Orochimaru had come, his Sound Four with him, and while the Snake himself distracted Zabuza his foot soldiers bore Haku away. Zabuza had come to on the cold ground, Kubikiribōchō still in hand, with his apprentice missing and a cold, empty ache tearing at his gut. An ache that was partly resignation, because he’d known the moment he realized Haku had been taken that he was going to get the boy back, regardless of whether Terumi Mei allowed it or not.

By Kiri's standards, he’s weak. He should have left Haku to die, ripped apart on a cold steel table to satisfy the twisted curiosity of a madman. But he hadn’t been able to allow that, had considered it with the same knot of angry frustration he’d had right before the graduation exam. It had only gotten worse when Terumi said no.

 _So that’s how it is,_ he had thought, both times. _I see. But if you're going to be that blind and stupid and_ careless _, I’ll force you to open your eyes and take another look._

And so he’d killed his classmates, slaughtered every single girl and boy his age and left Kiri one generation of shinobi short. And so he’d walked away from the revolution he’d started, from the position of Mizukage that was only open because _he_ was the one who had the balls to face Yagura one-on-one.

They weren’t impulses. They weren’t whims. They weren’t thought-out plans, either, because Zabuza is too rash for that. A combination of anger and resolve, willpower and fuck-it-all brashness, that carried him through to the other side. The first time resulted in a quiet, hurried change, those in power sweeping the massacre under the rug in an untidy heap. The second…

Zabuza rubs his brow, setting the mask down on his knee. They're in Wave Country, just a little too close to Kiri for Zabuza’s comfort, living in a piece of shit inn and working for a slime-ball the likes of which Zabuza hasn’t seen since Terumi roasted most of Kiri's council. Still, it means a roof over their heads, however temporary, and food in their stomachs, even if the rest of Wave is starving.

No matter what bits of softness are in him, Zabuza has always been able to put himself and his own first, when the situation calls for it.

A missing-nin is a tool that can be drawn by anyone, wielded indiscriminately, and Zabuza is still trying to adjust to going from one of the heroes of the revolution to a wanted criminal. Instead of taking orders from the one woman he’s ever found admirable outside of Ringo Ameyuri, he’s been reduced to listening to the mad ravings of a greedy, power-hungry slug, and it makes him sick.

He’ll finish the job, because that’s who he is, but after that, he and Haku are making tracks and never coming back to Wave again.

Zabuza’s thumb slides over smooth porcelain once more, automatic and unthinking, and he looks down. Fox would laugh at him, he thinks, slightly wry, and lifts the mask to study it. He remembers his first sight of it in the darkened tunnel, a pale blur among the shadows that moved impossibly fast, deft and agile and dangerous. Remembers the white mask tumbling away to reveal golden skin and glaring blue eyes, bright with anger and barely-hidden surprise. Remembers a waterfall of black hair, in contrast to the gold elsewhere on his body, a dichotomy Zabuza still wonders at.

But most of all, perhaps, he remembers words. A sharp voice, fierce with conviction and offense, and Fox faced him down not once but twice.

_Even when we’re enemies, we’re all human, and I refuse to believe otherwise! You can call me weak for that, Zabuza, but it’s the reason I'm not a mindless tool the way you seem to think I should be! I can still see the difference between right and wrong, and clearly you can too, or that kid in there would be dead already!_

It’s been a very long time since Zabuza allowed himself to think in terms like that, _right_ and _wrong_ rather than simply _strength_ and _weakness_.

“Zabuza-san?” Haku asks quietly, and Zabuza looks up, setting the mask aside and rising to his feet.

“Let me guess,” he says darkly. “Gato’s yanking on our chain again?”

Haku inclines his head, and if Zabuza didn’t know him, he’d miss the faint unhappy slant to the boy’s mouth, the twist that says he’d happily forgo his no-killing stance just this once. The creep’s rubbing both of them the wrong way, and that doesn’t look to be changing any time soon.

“Yes, Zabuza-san,” he says. “Apparently Tazuna has managed to slip out of Wave without Gato’s men noticing. Gato wishes us to track him down and dispose of him.”

Zabuza grimaces, because he could have done that just as well any of the preceding weeks, but Gato had wanted to wait, had wanted to be sure the villagers were completely crushed, and it’s trying Zabuza’s patience. He’s as fond of needless posturing as the next high-ranking shinobi, but there's a limit to the amount of incompetence he can stand.

“Old man’s got some balls,” he allows, reaching for his sword and weapons pouches—never far out of reach here, given that he trusts Gato about as far as he can spit, if even that much. “Best bet is he’s going for help. Kiri's still a shitstorm, and no one in their right mind contracts out of Ame or Oto unless they have to. Yuki's too small, and everywhere else is too far away to reach on foot, so he’s probably heading for Konoha.”

“I'm surprised he has the funds to hire shinobi,” Haku murmurs, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “Especially the caliber of shinobi needed to face a high-ranking missing-nin. After all, Gato has hardly been subtle about your presence.” There are dark circles under his eyes, lines of unhappiness faint around his mouth—he doesn’t like Gato any more than Zabuza does. Even less, likely, because Haku's always been sensitive to assholes. It makes Zabuza wonder, sometimes, why the kid’s stuck with him so long.

With a grunt, Zabuza stuffs a few rolls of bandages into his pack and then straightens, tossing it over his shoulder. “Find us some supplies,” he orders. “I’ll deal with Gato, and then we’ll get moving.”

He pretends not to see the relief on Haku's face. This country is dying, caught in Gato’s unforgiving stranglehold, and Haku hates the pain and misery they see every time they step out the door. Hates it because he knows hopelessness, knows what it’s like to give up completely, and Wave shows all the signs of teetering on the edge. Killing Tazuna will likely push them right over it.

But it’s a job, it’s a way to earn a living, and even if Zabuza isn’t the tool he’d like to think himself he’s still a shinobi, still a mercenary. There's little he won't do to earn some money, to keep surviving, and crushing a country and everyone in it doesn’t fall under that heading.

Before he leaves the room, he picks up the orange-painted fox mask and uses the snapped strings to attach it securely to his belt. Just a whim, he tells himself. It’s just a whim, a moment of foolish amusement over the thought of what Fox would say. Amusement touched with the memory of sky-blue eyes, full of wicked humor and his namesake’s mischief, sharp-hot with want above a full mouth that laughed even as Zabuza kissed him.

He wonders if Tazuna has enough ryos on him to hire an ANBU. Wonders why he really, really hopes the old man does.

No attachment, he told Fox.

Maybe he’d have been better served telling that to himself.

 

 

Kakashi is starting to wonder if it’s too late for him to retire.

“—mother is the Clan Head, and my sister—”

“—is a second-rate chuunin whose only skill is with a bunch of mutts,” Sasuke bites out. “That sounds familiar, doesn’t it? _My_ brother—”

Kiba bristles and Akamaru does the same, a low growl rumbling over the training ground to reach the spot Kakashi has staked out on the far side, where he’s in the midst of regretting every single one of his life choices. “Shut the hell up, Uchiha! I'm sick of hearing about your perfect, genius brother! Too bad you’ll never live up to him, so all you can do is talk!”

“Kiba, Sasuke—”

“Give it up! You're twelve and you don’t even have your Sharingan yet!”

“Sasuke—”

Sasuke's eyes narrow into slits of black rage. “At least I,” he hisses, “have some basic understanding of chakra control and what it means to be a shinobi, _dead last_.”

“Kiba!”

“Who the hell are you calling dead last, you stuck up bastard?! Akamaru an’ I are worth _ten_ of you! That stick up your ass—”

 _Wham_.

“I'm _sick_ of listening to you two argue!” Sakura howls, planting her hands on her hips and glaring down at the two groaning piles of genin her blows reduced the boys to. “If you guys don’t pull your act together, we’re _never_ going to make chuunin! Interrupt practice like this again and I’ll put you both in the hospital, got it?”

At this point, five days into an exercise that was supposed to take one— _maybe_ —to master, it’s not an idle threat, and Kakashi is fully prepared to pretend he is blind and deaf while she carries it out.

Kakashi wonders, a little morbidly, how the other teams are doing. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t actually want to know.

“Sakura!” Kiba whines, dragging himself back to his feet. One good thing about being from a matriarchal family is that he doesn’t try to protest or undermine her orders, no matter how much he might complain. And Sasuke, despite his arrogance and mildly disturbing brother complex, is willing to go along with good ideas, which Sakura provides in excess now that she’s frustrated enough to actually voice them. “It’s not _my_ fault—”

“That you keep letting Sasuke get to you? _Yes,_ Kiba, _it is_ , and if you do it one more time I’ll _show you_ just how well I'm doing at strength training! And Sasuke, the next time you say ‘Aniki could do this when he was three’ or ‘my brother would have’ or ‘Itachi is the best’ or _anything_ like that, I'm going to dunk you in the river until you _drown_.”

It’s telling as to the power dynamics of this team that both boys snap their mouths shut instantly, look at each other, and then pointedly look away.

“So,” Kiba says gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tree climbing?”

Sasuke grunts in what Kakashi is willing to generously call agreement, and the boys turn on their heels and head for the tall trees on the other side of the small clearing. Sakura watches them go, eyes narrowed as she studies them for any hint of continuing hostility. When nothing is apparent, she nods once, looking satisfied, and follows after them.

They're nothing at all like Kakashi's own genin team, and for that he’s unspeakably grateful. Sakura is a dictator, where Rin was a peacekeeper; Kiba is loud and not quite as skilled as the others, but not the hapless clown Obito always played; Sasuke is obsessed with his brother, but it pushes him forward rather than holding him back the way Kakashi's obsession with his father’s death did for him. There are no memories, no parallels to trip him up here.

They're a good team, or they will be someday. If Kakashi can just keep them from killing each other long enough for them to learn how to work together.

Maybe…maybe all they need is a push. Outside of the village, away from the pressures of family and their clans and all the expectations placed on them, there's a chance the three can come together. It might be dangerous, but a shinobi’s life always is, and Kakashi isn’t willing to throw them into the upcoming Chuunin Exams the way they are now. That would be murder— and bordering on suicide, given how fiercely protective Tsume, Mebuki, and Mikoto are of their children.

Kakashi takes a breath, decided, and tucks away the Icha Icha book he was attempting to read as he stands. “Oh, my cute little genin!” he calls brightly, and because he’s a fully blooded elite jounin he doesn’t flinch at the three matching glares, heavy with killing intent, that are turned on him. Even with the downsides, having full approval to torment, taunt, and otherwise torture three adorable children is the best part of being a jounin instructor. Kakashi relishes it. They deserve whatever he can dish out, after all. He hasn’t had this many headaches since that one ANBU mission where he got six concussions in the space of four months.

“Yes, sensei?” Sakura asks, even managing to sound mostly polite about it. She’s halfway up her tree, Sasuke and Kiba casting her nasty looks from where they're sprawled flat on their backs in the dirt, but she doesn’t appear to notice.

“Training’s over for the day,” Kakashi informs them cheerfully, clapping his hands. “Let’s go see if the Hokage is willing to give us a C-rank, hmm?”

As expected, that gets both Sasuke and Kiba on their feet in an instant, ready to move, and Sakura is equally quick jumping down from the tree. They’ve been champing at the bit to get something a little more exciting than the Tora mission or raking leaves, and clearly that hasn’t changed.

“Yes, sensei!” they chorus, and Kakashi strangles a sigh, wondering if they’ll ever manage that kind of teamwork at other times, and not just when they're getting something they want.

When Kakashi herds them into the Administration Building, he’s surprised to see that they aren’t the only ones present. It’s the middle of the day, and generally most missions are assigned early in the morning or early in the evening, when shinobi tend to wake up. There's not a lot of in between. But right now, there's a jounin leaning over the table in front of Sarutobi, hands braced on the wood and high black ponytail spilling down his back. For all that their voices are contained, it’s still clearly an argument.

Ostensibly, Kakashi could stay back until they're done, maintaining a polite distance and refusing to eavesdrop in the understanding that it is both rude and wrong when done against his own village. He could, he really could.

However, that’s not how one learns all the interesting gossip.

Icha Icha out and positioned firmly in front of his nose, Kakashi ushers his cute little monster-genin closer and cocks a ready ear.

“—contacts are _sure_ it’s him, Hokage-sama. If you’ll just let me—”

“I fail to see what this would solve, Fox,” Sarutobi says, voice perfectly even around the pipe he’s sucking on. “That man is Kiri's concern.”

“He could be ours,” Naruto insists, and that tone is entirely Kushina’s, entirely Minato's—set and stubborn and unwilling to be swayed. Given Naruto's genetics, and the double-dose of pigheadedness he got from his parents, it’s no wonder he’s survived this long in ANBU. Not even simply survived, but thrived. “Can't you think of the benefits? Kiri has cut all ties with him. He’s drifting right now, but if we gave him a place to belong, he’d be loyal. Konoha won't ask him to betray his own beliefs, and if I can just convince him of that, he’d fight for _us_.”

“Fox, regardless of the possible benefits, I am not sending you into a one-on-one confrontation with a dangerous, likely deranged swordsman and apprentice with unknown—oh, Kakashi. I didn’t see you there. Sakura, Kiba, Sasuke, you're looking well.”

Naruto's shoulders go stiff and tense, and he turns sharply. Kakashi considers rearranging his features into a glare like the one Hound would normally give Fox, but…he’s tired. He’s tired of the charade, the fake hate when all he really wants is a glimpse of the little boy who once called him Kakashi-nii. So he simply inclines his head a little, and watches Naruto's blue eyes, so like Minato's, go wide with shock behind the blank white mask.

“Hokage-sama,” he says lazily, giving a halfhearted salute. “Fox. We’ve come for a mission. Any C-ranks left?”

There's a moment of silence as both Sarutobi and Naruto regard him with surprise. Then something sparks in Sarutobi's eyes, a realization tinged with amusement and relief, and he puts his pipe down to shuffle through the scrolls in front of him. “I do indeed,” he says. “The last one, even. It’s an escort mission to Wave Country, escorting Tazuna the Bridge-Builder home. Are you interested?”

“Yes!” Kiba punches the air. “A mission out of the village!”

Even Sasuke looks a bit more cheerful at that, and Sakura is smiling. “An escort mission?” she says interestedly. “Is it dangerous?”

Kakashi wants to chuckle. At the beginning, that question would have been anxious, hoping for an answer to the contrary. Now, it’s almost eager; pounding her teammates’ heads in on a regular basis, and training frequently with Ino, has given Sakura confidence in both her physical strength and breadth of knowledge.

“There is always the possibility,” Sarutobi allows grimly, but his features lighten a moment later with a faint smile. “However, as the majority of the roads will be well-traveled, and Tazuna is not a high-risk client, it will likely be fairly safe.”

Sakura isn’t foolish enough to look disappointed, though Kiba and Sasuke both do; she simply nods and watches as Kakashi accepts the scroll.

“And,” Sarutobi adds, making Kakashi glance up at him curiously, because that’s his self-satisfied tone, “your acceptance of this mission neatly solves another of my problems. Fox will accompany you on a mission of his own, and remain with you until he locates his target, who has been sighted along the same road.”

“Hokage-sama!” Fox protests sharply, but Kakashi cuts him off before he can continue.

“Of course,” he agrees, tucking his hands into his pockets as though he hasn’t a care in the world. “A strong jounin is more than welcome, seeing as this is Team 7’s first mission out of the village.”

Naruto goes silent, suspicious eyes regarding Kakashi warily. “Hound,” he starts, but Kakashi just shakes his head.

“I'm not ANBU anymore, Fox. Hatake Kakashi. Pleased to meet you.”

He can't say what he wants to. There's no way he can tell him ‘Your parents would be so proud of what you’ve accomplished, Naruto, and I am too’, because he knows not to give such a thing away. But…a fresh start between them isn’t entirely beyond his abilities at the moment.

There's another lingering moment of silence, and then Naruto inclines his head, just shy of a bow. “Fox,” he answers. “It’s…good to meet you, Kakashi, Team 7. I look forward to traveling with you.”

Sasuke, Kakashi notices, looks vaguely disgruntled, crossing his arms over his chest and opening his mouth to say something that will likely end with Sakura punching him through a wall. Before he can get even the first syllable out, though, there's a thump against the door leading to one of the waiting rooms, and the reek of alcohol fills the air. Kakashi wrinkles his nose, glancing over, and has to fight a grimace.

“What’s this?” the greying man demands. “A freak, a creep, and a bunch of brats? Isn’t my money worth more than this?”

Unable to help himself, Kakashi raises a brow and glances over at Naruto, who looks right back, reluctantly amused. He can tell they're both wondering who’s who here.

“Hey!” Kiba snarls, bristling. Under his hood, Akamaru lets out an indignant bark. “I'm the son of the Inuzuka Clan Head! Don’t you dare call me a brat!”

“Hn,” Sasuke grunts, seemingly in agreement, and turns his glare on Tazuna. Even Sakura, generally level-headed as she is, looks vaguely affronted, and Kakashi has to wonder at the bridge-builder’s intelligence. Personally, he wouldn’t want to insult the people standing between him and death at the hands of thieves, bandits, and missing-nin, which seems like simple common sense. Then again, he’s never been a civilian, so he can't really judge how they think.

“Tazuna the Master Bridge-Builder,” Sarutobi says, vaguely longsuffering. “This is Team 7, under jounin Hatake Kakashi, and the jounin Fox, who will be accompanying you most of the way. As your request earns a C-rank in our system, you have the choice between a pair of chuunin, who will likely not be able to accompany you until tomorrow at the earliest, or this genin team, which can be ready to leave in an hour’s time. Are you dissatisfied?”

Tazuna grunts unhappily, but doesn’t argue. “I expect your best protection until I get back to my country and complete my bridge,” he informs them, and takes another swig of sake.

Kakashi can already tell that this mission is going to be _so wonderful_ that he could just _cry_.

 

 

There's something building. Itachi can feel it on the wind, in the heaviness of the air each time he breathes. Madara is out there, plotting something, planning something, and it requires the eyes of the most powerful Uchiha in the clan. There's no way it’s benign, and the anxious dread is like a live current beneath his skin. His muscles jump and twitch, all of his nerves are strung tight, and his mind is racing, trying to piece everything together.

He’s heard Fox’s report from the Oto mission, or at least the parts Sarutobi has seen fit to release—a masked man, manipulating events from behind the scenes, with an unknown aim and an unknown amount of power. He has no doubt that it’s Madara, that the old Uchiha is finally putting himself back into play after his defeat when Itachi failed to follow through with the massacre of his clan. No doubt that this bodes ill for the world in general, and Konoha in particular.

There's a storm gathering, and once again the Uchiha are going to be at its heart, whether they wish to be or not.

“Heavy thoughts there, Itachi,” a bright voice says, and a figure steps up beside him on top of the Yondaime’s carved head. “You know, I expected to find Fox brooding up here, not you.”

Itachi spares a small, grateful smile for his cousin and shifts a little to the side to make room. “I will admit that some of his habits are…catching. This more than others,” he allows. “It is…a good spot to find perspective.”

Shisui drops down to sprawl gracelessly on the stone, sharp eyes falling on the village below. The sun is setting, staining it with reds and oranges as the shadows stretch, and the streets are full of people, shinobi and civilians alike. They're unaware of what Itachi knows is coming, and he’d prefer to keep it that way. Fox would likely protest, would say that it’s their right to know, their right to fight for Konoha if it comes down to that, but Itachi doesn’t quite have Fox’s certainty, his selflessness. He wants to preserve the peaceful air the village has boasted for so long, and will use every ounce of his power to do so.

“That it is,” Shisui agrees, “but you should be careful. Too much of this perspective and you could forget that you're one of those people down there, too.”

That’s the reason Itachi needs Shisui, needs Fox. They're his moral compass, his grounding tether to keep him attached to the world. Otherwise Itachi's genius runs away with him, leaves him distant and disassociated with the reality of Konoha, Konoha's people. Too long with only his thoughts and Itachi starts thinking of statistics and _for the greater good_ , rather than right and wrong and all the shades of grey between. Thinking of self-sacrifice, which is in no way the same thing as selflessness.

He takes a breath, and lets it go. Thinks of what Fox would want him to say in this situation, what Fox himself would say. Takes another breath, holds it for a count of five, and breathes out slowly, carefully.

“I need your help, Shisui,” he says.

“Of course,” Shisui answers, like it was never a question. “Anything, Itachi.”

Once, they were both prepared to give themselves up for the sake of the village. Were ready to give everything they had, and all that they didn’t, in the name of keeping the peace. But Fox was the one who caught them, who reeled them back in before they could be swept away on the tide. Fox was the one who saved Shisui when Danzo attacked him, intending to rip out his eyes. Saved Itachi, when Danzo had him backed into a corner with no way out.

Fox saved them, showed them a different path to take, and Itachi is more than ready to repay him by showing that he knows how to follow it, regardless of where it leads.

“I’ll put in a request for a mission, with just the two of us,” he offers. “That masked man Fox saw—it must be Madara. I need to find him and make sure he can't hurt Konoha ever again.”

Shisui looks at him and smiles, bright and warm. “I'm with you, Itachi,” he affirms, looping his arms around his knees and leaning forward. “Where are we headed first?”

Itachi takes one more look out at the village, peaceful beneath the spreading twilight, and takes a breath to steady himself. “Oto,” he murmurs. “Oto, and then wherever the trail leads us until we find him. And this time, we’ll put an end to him for good.”

With a soft hum of agreement, Shisui leans into his side. Itachi wonders if it’s pure foolishness, but in that moment he feels as though they’re already halfway to success.


End file.
